Monster
by IndigoUmbrella
Summary: "Have you ever asked yourself, do monsters make war, or does war make monsters?" Disclaimer: This story contains spoilers for Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Monster lyrics by Imagine Dragons. Summary is from Daughter of Smoke and Bone by Laini Taylor. This story contains some settings and situations that some readers may find disturbing. Such as; death, war, and PTSD.
1. Chapter 1

My heart was rattling so loudly in my chest that I could hear it pounding in my ears. It was all I could hear over that high pitched ringing that didn't seem to want to fade away. I had my back pressed against a crumbling brick wall. A grenade had taken most of it off, making a temporary rain of debris and ash. My gun was across my lap. I could feel the heaviness of the machine against me. I could feel the weight of my armor and ammunition across my chest, constricting my already ragged breathing. I knew I was never going to be able to pull that trigger. I had been training for this moment for years, and I couldn't do it. I froze.

So I sat there against the wall with the ringing in my ears and the knowledge that I was going to die. We were all going to die. I probably could have saved them. I could have stopped that bomb if I had just been brave enough to pull the trigger when I had the chance. If I didn't hide like a coward behind a wall, they might have had a chance. I had to be brave again. I couldn't hear them, but I knew they were still there.

I stood up and winced at how tightly I had tied my boots that morning. My legs were shaking with exhaustion and fear. I cautiously peeked over the wall just in time to spot a man racing around the corner. At first I thought he was a civilian until he lifted his hands and pointed his gun in my direction. My breath caught in my throat. It was too late to dive back behind the wall. I could hardly breathe through the dust, debris, heat, and armor as it was. I felt my lungs completely halt. My finger stroked the metal trigger of my gun, but I just couldn't do it.

He fired first, and I felt pain explode over my left shoulder. I fell backwards, tripping over crumbled cement blocks until I was flat on my back, staring up at the smoke filled sky. It was supposed to be an easy mission. Why did it fall apart? I wasn't even supposed to be there. I went through all of the training, but I was just supposed to help and support. I wasn't supposed to die this way. My mother would be disappointed.

Then a loud beeping sound broke through the ringing. Instead of the smoke filled sky I saw the ceiling of my bedroom, blackened with shadows from the twisted trees in my yard. I took a deep breath and rubbed the damaged skin on my shoulder, where the bullet had struck me and left behind a thick layer of scar tissue.

My bones still ached, and I could still recall that sharp blast of pain. I remember feeling like my whole shoulder had been torn off. I remember believing I was going to die, but my alarm clock continued to grow louder and more persistent with every passing second. So I reached over and slammed the palm of my hand against the large button on the top. The beeping halted, and the silence filled my ears with that ringing again.

Then the wind blew and made the old windows creak and whistle like ghosts, reminding me that my hearing was just fine, and the ringing was from the silence. Not because I'd stood too close to an explosion. I sat up and moved the covers off of my bare legs. I pressed my feet against the wood floor and felt a chill in the air prickle against my skin. Summer was approaching, but I was still cold. I was always cold.

The memories were getting worse. Not worse, really. Just going back to the way they had started. I was told when I got home that it would take me a long time to recover, but they always made recovery out to be such an easy thing to accomplish. They always made it seem as if I'd be normal again within a year. I'd be the same optimistic, loving, bubbly girl I'd been before I shipped out.

But it had been almost six years and the nightmares always returned. They had started to get better. I could be alone with my thoughts and my silence. I could sleep through the night, but then HYDRA resurfaced. No, they were always there. That was part of the problem. I was just finally forced to see them. I had to turn against people I had always considered allies; people who had been against me all along.

Even though I couldn't recover, I could persevere. My therapist always said that perseverance was one step closer to recovery. I was good at perseverance, even if I couldn't get the hang of recovery. So I stood up and crept across the hall to the bathroom. I took a hot shower as I tried to wash the chill from my bones and relieve the ache in my shoulder. I ran my fingers over the scars as I stood beneath the rainfall, getting familiar with them again.

They told me I was lucky to have been hit in the shoulder. The bullet had torn through some muscles, but missed major arteries and skimmed my bones, and managed to come out clean through the back. If I had been hit anywhere else I probably would have died or been too injured to return to an ordinary life. I hated when they said that. My chest had been armored. There was a helmet on my head. He could have just shot me in the chest and spared me the pain. They always said he probably just missed, but I knew that couldn't be true. The shooter was smart. He knew I was armored. He knew a shot to my chest wouldn't have done anything but knock the wind out of me and provide me with enough motive to fire back. He shot me in the shoulder to take me out of the game.

When I got home, I was recommended to SHIELD by my former commanding officer. I got the job, thanks to him, and moved to Washington DC. They let me carry a gun even though they knew I couldn't use it. They stuck me in a desk job, claiming that I was too emotionally unstable for field work. I didn't complain because I figured they were right. So I sat behind a desk every day and pretended not to feel the extra weight that always rested on my hip. I knew I wouldn't be able to pull the trigger if it came down to it. They did too.

When HYDRA was revealed within SHIELD, it turned out to be a test of my ability. Co-workers that I had known from the start had turned on one another. Friends had become enemies. Everything had been in disarray, and the office was in complete chaos. I'd had to pull my gun out. I felt it in my hands, heavy with more than just the weight of metal and machinery. I felt the trigger beneath my finger, and I couldn't do it. I'd shot paper. I'd shot at targets. I regularly practiced just so I never lost the skill. I enjoyed shooting at targets. I just couldn't bring myself to shoot another person. Even when my life was in danger.

You know that saying that you never bring a knife to a gunfight? Well, I was the one who brought the knife. It was a pretty thing too. It was a joke gift from my sister in New York. It was a switchblade with a pink handle that she'd given a custom bedazzling. My sister said it was a decent representation of me since I'd always been girly as a child. Until I ran away to join the military.

My mother always used to say I had strong maternal instincts. She said I only joined the army to prove that I could be maternal, girly, and tough at the same time. I was just supposed to be a medic. I was just supposed to help people. The gun, knives, and training were just precautions. I'd never been able to use them.

So when everything went down with HYDRA, and I realized that I still couldn't pull the trigger and take another life, I pulled that pink sparkly switchblade from my pocket and used it to defend myself with. I was a joke, a laugh for the other guys to talk about. I was the girl who brought a pink bedazzled knife to a gun fight. But I survived, and that had to mean something.

The sun was starting to rise when I finally made my way down to the kitchen on the main floor. I decided to forgo breakfast and packed my coffee in a shiny silver mug with the SHIELD logo on the side. I snapped the lid on tight and stuck a packet of crackers between my lips to eat on the ride. My pink bedazzled switchblade was sitting on the counter where I'd left it. It was a gag gift from my sister. It was the butt of many jokes, but it was my weapon of choice. It could kill, but it could also protect without having to kill. So I snatched it off of the counter and slid it into the pocket of my blazer.

* * *

Alright, son. So I've been really sucking so super bad about writing lately. For like a year, to be completely honest. The last time I finished a story it was just a rewrite and I was so unhappy with it that I decided to rewrite it again. *facepalm*

But then this happened. *Points at new story*

And I wrote it. Like... from start to finish. Like oh my God, that is still apparently something that I have the ability to do. It took me less than a week and I lost a lot of sleep over it just like the good old days. there's still some tweaking I want to do in later chapters and some additional things I might do later on. Also, like one really fluffy chapter that I couldn't get passed so I skipped temporarily. But otherwise, it's done. Holy shit.

So, first things first. I hate the title. I don't know why but I had an extremely difficult time coming up with a title for this. I ran through like twenty different ones and I just kept coming back to this one because it relates to some dialogue in the story. It sucks. I know. But it's all I've got. I just barely managed to make a full story, and apparently my inability to come up with clever titles has not changed. I hope that doesn't deflect away from the story.

Second, if you didn't read my spoiler warning and disclaimer on the front page. This story has a shit ass fuck ton of spoilers. So if you just read this chapter and you haven't seen The Winter Soldier yet... sorry. If you have, carry on. If you read this and get spoiled, that's on you. Also, I wasn't sure if this was necessary. But I felt like I should give a warning for a few things. As you noticed above, there was a war flash back, an injury, and a hint at a possible case of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. That was a relatively mild flashback, but it's not the only one in the story. If these are things that bother you, I'd advise you not to continue reading. Otherwise, carry on.

And so, I hope you like this. I hope to get updates out regularly. I'm really excited for some Bucky-ness. Also, there's a lot of fluff in this story. So don't get discouraged when there are moments where you're like "There's no way he'd be that sweet and fluffy after going through everything he went through." You are absolutely right. And that's why it doesn't last. This story is like a burnt crispy marshmallow. Soft and gooey in the center. I hope you read it anyway and I hope that you like it. :D


	2. Chapter 2

Ever since the ordeal with HYDRA, again, SHIELD was in shambles. Ninety percent of the workforce had been arrested, killed in action, or disappeared into the wind. Those of us who stuck behind were interviewed, followed, and just plain harassed. Majority of us had been labeled HYDRA even when there was no evidence to back that accusation, and the ones who managed to get free from the government takedown went on to work for various other places.

I managed to make it through the interview and scrutiny for the simple fact that I was a level one agent, fought against HYDRA with a pink knife, and had a history with Colonel Talbot of US Special Forces. I had been cleared, though I wasn't sure that they weren't still watching me just to be sure.

The new job was going to be more difficult to find. Tony Stark had offered me a job almost immediately, and I had considered it a great deal. I just didn't want to leave my home in DC. I didn't want to be closer to my sister so she could see everything I tried to keep away from my family, and I couldn't be positive that working for Stark Industries would be any less stressful than working for SHIELD. I still had a mortgage to pay though, and a car, and despite HQ being swarmed with military personnel and construction crews, I decided to go back for what was left of my stuff anyway.

The front courtyard was empty when I walked through it. It almost felt like a ghost town. In the old days, the place would have been crawling with agents. Sunshine used to sparkle through the glass ceiling and make the whole place come alive. Now it was devoid of all life except for me, the dying plants, and what was left of the shattered ceiling and SHIELD statue. I headed into the main lobby and made for the elevator bank when a uniformed soldier stepped in front of me.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked as he held his gun against his chest and stretched his spine to appear tall.

"To get my stuff," I replied.

"What stuff? What's left? Important documents? How'd you get cleared?" I pulled my bag up higher on my shoulder and looked him square in the eye. He was taller than me by nearly half a foot, but his demands were starting to get on my nerves. I had already waited long enough to get my stuff, and I had nothing to hide.

"I'm former agent Johanna Hayes. I'm also ex-Special Forces and your superior. I've been cleared by Colonel Talbot, and I came here to pick up my personal belongings. If that is a problem for you, please give the Colonel a call. I'm sure he would like to be bothered with the news of me collecting my family photos." He gave me a huff but turned to his companion anyway. The other guy was lounging lazily at the security desk. He gave a shrug.

"She's been cleared by Talbot. Let her go. He's too busy to care," he said. The guy turned back to me and stepped away.

"We'll be watching you… Agent," he said. I held my head high as I stepped passed him and headed to the elevators.

Even though I had a desk job and did nothing but paperwork all day long, my office was one of the few that were hit the hardest. A great deal of our paperwork had been compromised, falsified, rendered useless, or just plain HYDRA. My level was even quieter than the courtyard. At least you could hear birds sing out there through the broken glass in the ceiling.

My cubicle was littered with papers and the remains of the fight that had taken place there. Luckily the bodies had been removed but when I told my mother I was going back for my stuff, she strictly forbade me. She was afraid seeing the battleground would send me into a horrific flashback. Besides feeling melancholy about the fact that I could never come back to work, I felt fine.

I had to do a dance around the rubble and mess to get to my chair on the cubicle bank closest to the window. Then I plopped down on my chair and looked out over the entrance courtyard and the mangled SHIELD statue. I could see the partially demolished second building from my seat. I watched some birds take flight from a broken section before taking another sip of my coffee and placing the mug on my desk.

Then I began to empty my drawers. I tossed my files and paperwork into the trash bin at my side even though they were probably better placed on the floor. I dug through my junk and began removing what I needed. Things like office supplies and personal items.

"Hey," I heard a voice say sharply. I looked up at another soldier who stood in the walkway, holding onto his gun as if he would have to use it on me. "Do you have clearance?"

"I've been cleared by Colonel Talbot. I don't know why I keep having to tell you guys that," I informed him.

"You SHIELD?" he asked. I sighed heavily. Yes, I was SHIELD, but I was tired of the way people reacted when I said I was. I still believed there was a difference between SHIELD and HYDRA. Even if I had been doing a lot of HYDRA's dirty work unknowingly.

"Special Forces," I told him. He gave me a once over.

"You're not taking any data, are you? We're not supposed to touch the files."

"I'm leaving the paperwork." I lifted my in/outbox and dumped it onto the floor just to show him it was useless to me. "But I am taking my stuff." I stuffed a few supplies into my bag, and he approached the cubicle.

"We're not supposed to take anything."

"I'm taking my stuff," I repeated. "Unless you want to keep my parents wedding photo, and this macaroni necklace a kid from the VA made for me, by all means." I held the chain out to him, but he just kept staring down at me. So I shoved them into my bag and reached for my laptop. He jolted, and his fingers twitched toward his gun.

"You can't take that," he insisted. I sighed and lifted the screen.

"It's my personal computer," I explained. "No access to SHIELD or HYDRA files. I had to access those files on this computer." I put my hand on the desk by my mouse. "My login ID doesn't work anymore, remember? But this computer is mine. My mother paid for it. And I need it so I can apply for a new job." I closed the laptop screen and stuck it into my bag. "But you can go ahead and run that by Talbot if you want to." He shifted on his feet.

"Talbot says not to bother him, but he also says not to trust anyone." I shrugged and reached for my stapler.

"Talbot trusts me."

"Why?"

"Because I saved his life." He watched me gather more of my supplies before another soldier cruised through the hallway.

"She's cleared," the woman said. "Just got off the phone with Talbot. He said to let her do what she wants." The guy nodded and turned back to me.

"You're clear," he informed me.

"I tried to tell you," I replied.

He walked off to join his companion on their rounds. I reached into the bottom drawer of my desk when I felt my phone vibrate in my blazer pocket. I pulled it out and looked down at the screen. It was a text from a number I didn't recognize.

"Agent Hayes, this is Agent Hill. I have a mission for you," the text read. I looked up to see if the soldiers were watching, but they were in a discussion and no longer paying any attention to me.

I had seen Agent Maria Hill several times during my employment with SHIELD, but I had never met her. The woman always appeared cold and indifferent and stuck by Director Fury like a permanent second limb. After Fury's assassination, I hadn't seen Hill at all. The last I heard from her was when SHIELD had named her an enemy, and she assisted Captain Rogers in bringing down HYDRA. I knew that whatever reason she had for contacting me now must be important. As far as I knew she managed to get cleared and was going to work for Stark.

"I'm listening," I texted back. Her response came just a second later.

"Meet me in the basement in interrogation room four. Take the stairs, don't use your ID."

"I'll be right down."

My phone went silent again, and I stood as I swept a strand of light brown hair from my face. I didn't know what Hill could want from me, but she knew I was in the building and she still referred to me as an agent even though I no longer had a job. I lifted the bag I had stuffed with all of my supplies and then swung it over my shoulder. It was heavy with the weight of my laptop and picture frames, but I felt for the knife in my pocket and walked past the soldiers.

"Good luck on your job search," the man said. I gave him a quick nod before heading to the elevator bank. I was alone in the small room, and I looked around to make sure the soldiers weren't watching me. Instead of pressing the button to get on the immobile elevator car, I opened the door to the stairwell and pulled it closed before it could slam shut and give me away.

I never had a reason to go to the interrogation rooms before. I was at a desk all day. I didn't do any field work. There was never a reason for me to interrogate anyone. I knew where they were though, because that was part of my job. I couldn't ever be lost, and I had toured the building more than once. Although, the interrogation rooms were usually set to deny my access when I swiped my ID, but a man was waiting for me when I left the stairwell.

I recognized him from the battle against HYDRA. He had stolen military equipment and aided Rogers and the others in taking down the helicarriers that were set to commit genocide. His name was Sam Wilson, and word on the street was that he was now best friends with Captain America and called himself The Falcon.

"Agent Hayes," he said when I approached. I nodded.

"Wilson," I replied.

He had the door open already so he pushed it wider so that I could enter the hallway. Then I followed him down the windowless corridor until we reached the door marked four in clean, sharp letters. He gave the door a quick tap with his knuckles before turning the handle and pushing it open. Then I nearly stumbled over my own feet when I saw the group waiting for me inside. Agent Hill stood at the end of the table, Agent Romanoff sat in a chair beside her, and Captain Rogers sat next to her. They were all facing me and the only two available chairs left had their backs to the door.

"Have a seat," Hill said when I entered. Wilson closed the door for me, and I took a chair in front of Rogers. I wondered if everyone else who had been cleared was getting interrogated by this crew too. Or if I was just special.

"What's going on?" I asked as I sat my bag down beside the leg of the aluminum table.

"I have a few questions for you."

"Okay, I've already been questioned. Was there something wrong?"

"No, I'm just curious how you got cleared."

"I got cleared because I'm clean. I'm a level one. I never did anything but paperwork. They determined I was harmless, and Colonel Talbot of Special Forces gave me a recommendation."

"Are you working for Talbot now?"

"I'm not working for anyone. I'm unemployed."

"Stark didn't offer you a job?"

"Of course he did. I didn't accept it."

"Why not?" I looked up at her and narrowed my eyes in disbelief.

"I'm sorry, Agent Hill, but last I checked I don't have to answer your questions. If this is another kind of examination then just be straight with me. Talbot has already cleared me. I'm not HYDRA. My reason for not accepting the job with Stark is my business."

"This isn't an interrogation. It's an interview," Rogers said from across me.

I looked up to meet his clear blue eyes. He was sitting in his civilian clothes but seemed tense and ready to jump into action at the first sign of trouble. Even though he seemed so alert, he also appeared as exhausted as the rest of us. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his usually perfectly styled blond hair was ruffled as if he hadn't slept in days.

"Interview for what?" I asked. Then Hill slapped a folder down on the metal table in front of me. I felt my spine go cold when I looked at the words printed on the top. They were in Russian. "I don't speak Russian," I informed her.

"I've included translations. Open it," she instructed.

I opened the file and looked down at the first page. A large photo had been attached to the inside cover. It was a solid blue photo of a man with his eyes closed, the edges of the picture seemed almost frosted. A smaller photo was attached to the larger one. It was an old print of a man in a military uniform. I ran my fingers over the glossy print and removed it from the paper clip.

"Sergeant James Barnes," I said, reading the name on the translation.

"Bucky," Rogers informed me. "His name is James Buchanan Barnes. I've always called him Bucky."

"He's also known as the Winter Soldier," Romanoff said from the other side of Rogers. I cut my eyes to her and saw the exhausted expression was mirrored on her face as well. I knew she was involved with a lot of legal trouble, but call me crazy I trusted the both of them. They had saved my life more than once, even if they hadn't done so intentionally.

"The Winter Soldier?" I repeated out loud. "I thought that was just a myth. Just a ghost story SHIELD used whenever we didn't have enough information on something."

"The Winter Soldier is a person, and if you accept this job, he's also going to pay your mortgage." My eyebrows rose.

"You want me to find him?"

"No," Rogers said as I turned back to him. "He's going to be impossible to find. And he's… not himself. He doesn't know who he is. Your mission won't be to find him because you won't succeed. Your mission will be to help me bring him out of the shadows. Help me help him."

I never thought I would see the day where the famous Captain America would need my help for anything. Not when he had Romanoff, Wilson, and Hill at his side. Not with his gang of super buddies. I was good at my job, but I didn't have any particular talents. At least not any that I wanted to utilize. I wasn't an assassin, and Tony never let me touch his suits. I couldn't even pull a trigger. I was just a girl who sat behind a desk and filed reports. My only claim to fame was that I carried a sparkly knife and had a distant association with Tony Stark.

"James Barnes has undergone decades of brainwashing on part of HYDRA," Romanoff told me as she stretched out her arms across the table and cracked her knuckles. I turned my attention to her again. "He was born in 1917 in Brooklyn. He and Rogers were friends growing up. He was captured by HYDRA while on active duty during World War 2. Rogers managed to rescue Barnes from a HYDRA facility, and he joined the Howling Commandos. He was believed to be the only Commando to have died in service.

"Until he resurfaced as the Winter Soldier. HYDRA's toy soldier. He's had a hand in numerous assassinations and terrorist attacks. Including the assassination of Howard Stark and the recent attacks above DC. He's undergone similar experimentation as Steve, only he's been manipulated by HYDRA since the beginning. He has a robotic arm. He's highly dangerous. Probably confused too. But he saved Rogers' life and now that HYDRA has been dismantled he's gone AWOL.

"No one knows where he is or how to find him. But we do know that he's aware of his connection to Steve, and we think it's possible, and very likely, that he's going to come back to gather more information on his past."

"So what does this have to do with me?" I asked her.

"We want to create a friendly, safe, and threat free environment for Barnes to use as a gateway to Rogers. Barnes is a soldier. He's an assassin. He's like a ghost. And we think he's going to watch Rogers for a while before he makes a move. He's not going to show himself if Steve is surrounded by government officials. He's going to come to Steve when he's most relaxed and appears less threatening than Captain America. But we can't have Steve do this on his own and chances are Barnes already knows Steve is being watched at home. So we figure we'd set up a false environment. A place Steve regularly visits. A place where the government isn't watching."

"I still don't understand what this has to do with me," I said.

"You're one of the few remaining agents that isn't dead, HYDRA, or in custody. Talbot doesn't view you as a threat; therefore, there's minimal surveillance on you at present. We need to give Steve a reason to visit our designated safe place regularly. It has to be private, dark, and free from spies. We figure a girlfriend is the perfect cover. We can make your place seem as welcoming and threat free as Barnes needs to reach out. The person we needed has to lack government surveillance and needs to be viewed as gentle and non-threatening. But we also want someone we can trust. Someone who has a basic understanding of medical procedures, but also someone who can hold her own in a fight if it comes down to it."

"Against a super-soldier with a robotic arm?" I asked with a tired laugh. I ran my hands over my face. "I don't think I'm what you're looking for. I can't… I can't even shoot a gun." I whispered the last part even though they all heard me.

"We don't want you to have any weapons while under-cover. Aside from the cute knife." I put my head in my hands and rubbed the ache from my eyes. "Chances are Barnes isn't going to show up if Steve isn't there," she continued. "But he isn't going to show himself at Steve's apartment because he knows he's being watched there. He's going to follow Steve to a safe place, and Steve never goes anywhere. A girlfriend is just the perfect decoy. A place Steve can occasionally spend the night. A place that seems threat free and welcoming. Someplace the government isn't keeping tabs on. A place he can easily get in and out of without being noticed."

I opened my eyes and picked up the smaller photo again. I examined the face and reattached it to the paperclip. He seemed like a pleasant sort of guy in the smaller photo, and from what I remembered from Cap's exhibit at the Smithsonian. But I hadn't paid much attention. I never thought it would apply to me. I only went because my sister Clara wanted to see it when she'd come to visit.

"Why me?" I asked then. "Why not another cleared agent?"

"Because Barnes won't see you as a threat and Talbot isn't keeping spies on you. At least not to the extent of the rest of us. He trusts you. He's a dick, but his opinion means something."

"I was a Special Operations Forces Combat Medic, Agent Romanoff. I may not be able to shoot a man, but that doesn't mean I haven't killed anyone. I had… other skills. I wouldn't have been recruited otherwise."

"That's why we're recruiting you. You're one of the few agents left that we can trust; you have the skills and training needed to do the job. And even though you're an ex-soldier you still have the face of a fairy princess." I knew she didn't mean to insult me, but I had been fighting the fairy princess thing since I joined the military.

"Barnes won't view you as a threat," Romanoff continued as she fought off a yawn. "As long as he doesn't feel threatened by you and your actions don't get suspicious, your life shouldn't be in any danger. But just in case, you know how to get Barnes down without much assistance. Even if you do require it, Steve will be there to help you out, and Stark agreed to help too."

"Stark is part of this?" I asked with raised eyebrows.

"Your sister convinced him." I nodded slowly. Of course she did.

"So the plan is that we're going to set you up with a false identity. Chances are he won't have access to any real information, and he won't be watching you before Steve leads him to you. So you're safe for at least a week. We'll help you establish a false life and then Steve will start coming around. We want you to act like a couple. It doesn't have to be perfect. Barnes will view you as a couple with problems. Talbot will see you as a couple just starting out. You'll sleep in the same bed, share public displays of affection at the front door and in front of windows. Make it look like Steve is comfortable enough in your presence that he can kick off his shoes and fall asleep in front of the TV. That way Barnes will think it's safe to approach Steve in your house. That way you can be there to alert Stark or us if the situation goes sour."

"And if I have to face him alone?" I asked.

"Lie. Build your story. Make him think he can trust you."

"And if he gets violent?"

"Take him down."

"Don't… take him down. Don't kill him," Rogers said as he shot a glare in Romanoff's direction. I finally turned back to him. "Please?" he added. I nodded slowly. They had more faith in me than I had in myself. I didn't think I could take someone like Captain America in a fight. Especially if he was more prone to violence and had a robotic arm.

"What if he tries to kill me first?" I asked.

"He won't."

"We'll set up precautions anyway," Romanoff told me. "Stark sent us this prototype." She slipped a bracelet off of her wrist and placed it on the metal table between us. It was a simple beaded bracelet, but she lifted one of the beads and fingered the raised design. "It's a panic button," she told me. "It's still a prototype, so it's not perfect. But Stark offered to let us take it to help you with the mission. It's virtually undetectable, and it can distinguish between an accidental alert and a real one. If you begin to believe your life is in danger all you have to do is press the button, and Iron Patriot or one of us will be at your door in less than five minutes. Whoever's closest."

I reached across the table for the bracelet and located the single bead with a raised design. Upon further inspection, I could see that it was obviously a button. Not Stark's best but I appreciated it nonetheless.

"I'll have to send Stark my thanks," I said slowly. Romanoff shrugged. I turned to Captain Rogers again. "So what do you think of this plan?" He had his hand under his chin as if he was bored and wanted to sleep more than anything else.

"I think it's absurd," he told me. "But if it helps us get to him quicker than the government then I think it's worth trying. I have a lot of faith that Bucky is still in there somewhere. I don't want anything to get in the way of him trying to reach out to me."

"How long are we doing this for?"

"As long as required, or at least until you decide to back out," Romanoff told me. I kept my eyes on Rogers. He was the only one I really trusted in this situation. Not just because he was my superior but because it was also his mission. The rest of them were only there for him. If he wanted me to do it, I would. "We'll set you up with a job as part of your false identity. Rogers will make up the difference between your new job and your previous income," she continued.

"Do you want me to help you, Captain?" I asked him. He waited a moment to answer, but then he gave a quick nod.

"Yes, I do. But it's not an order, Corporal," he said. So I dropped my head and looked down at the bracelet. I slipped it onto my wrist.

"I don't do laundry," I finally decided.

* * *

I know this is like the most cliche start to a plot ever. I'm so sorry. It happened because of a dream that I had after I saw the movie. And I was an actress and I was in Captain America 3 but I played Steve's girlfriend. And the only scene we ever shot in this movie was when Bucky was breaking into Steve's house and had an altercation with Steve's girlfriend. And me and Sebastian Stan filmed that scene and then had lunch and he was dressed as the Winter Soldier and no one cared. So when I was thinking about how badly I wanted to make a Bucky story I realized I already had one. Hahaha.

Oh yeah, and there's no love triangle, I promise.

Also, speaking of dreams. This story is in the same universe as my other Marvel fics. I only have two of them up at this time. One is a Loki fic but it won't be mentioned in this story because I couldn't cross them in any way. The other is just a one shot right now about Tony, but it's being rewritten into a full story. The character in this story (Jo) is Tony's girlfriend's little sister. So if you've read my one shot then she is the main character's little sister. The sister and Tony both have parts in this story. In fact the next chapter is Jo's first interaction with them.

And because I mentioned dreams. I had a dream once about Captain America and a story is going to be made of that dream too. I don't know when it will be up since I want to finish Tony's story first. But it will be mentioned in this story as well. :D And those are my only Marvel stories at this time.

Also, I feel like I should mention that I don't watch Agents of SHIELD (I've only seen the first episode). Not that I don't want to watch it, just that I don't have a TV. I wanted to watch it before posting the story but I don't have the time to watch the whole season right now. So if things are off or inaccurate because I haven't watched it, I apologize and feel free to tell me so I can make any corrections.


	3. Chapter 3

It was midafternoon when I got home, but I decided to call my sister anyway. She lived in New York City in a cute little apartment in Manhattan, though she was hardly ever there anymore because she spent most of her time with Tony Stark. She had moved to New York to go to school and even though I liked to think we were close; the truth was we probably weren't anymore.

We had been marginally different growing up. Clara had always been the smart one. She was a classic beauty with a classic sense of taste, just like my mom. But she was ambitious, like my father. She always had good grades and always had some sort of extracurricular activity going on outside of school. Our father had always been hard on us because we weren't the "strapping" sons he had wanted. Clara had tried to prove herself as much as I had. Only she went into public relations, and I chose the army.

I wasn't anything like Clara. I was the sweet daughter. I was the one who went to church with my grandparents even after I'd lost my faith. I was the one who's only steady job was doing minor housework for my ailing grandparents and a brief waitressing job. The only school activities I enjoyed were sports events and dances.

Clara and I shared a bedroom growing up, and she was the only one who kept it clean. She liked things neat and orderly and so it completely threw me through a loop when I found out she was sleeping with Tony Stark.

My grandparents had known Howard Stark when they were young. They met on Ellis Island when they emigrated from Germany. My grandma worked in a button factory in Brooklyn and my grandpa used to ride the bus to her neighborhood every day just so he could walk her home from work.

One day a group of thugs cornered them into an alley and beat my grandpa to a pulp. Even as an old man his nose had been crooked and his jaw obviously off centered. My grandmother had screamed for help, and this caught the attention of a millionaire driving around Brooklyn in his limo.

He pulled the car over, pulled out one of his fancy high-tech guns, and saved their lives. He then herded them back into his limo, offered them jobs, which then gave them the motivation they needed to open their own business and move to Ohio.

My grandparents talked about the Stark's like they were royals. They had always been very pro-military, pro-America, and patriotism and all of that stuff. They believed the Stark's were our equivalent of the royal family. And so every holiday and family reunion growing up we heard the story about Howard Stark's rescue, and every time we heard it, it got a little more daring and fantastical.

When Tony Stark decided to change the company from weapons manufacturing to… whatever the hell he was up to nowadays, my family was in full support. The Stark's could do no wrong. And so they had been completely elated when my sister got a job at Tony's new building in New York City. It had been a dream come true for them.

That is until a bunch of aliens attacked the city and targeted the building she was working in.

I remember hearing about the attack from my office in DC. I remember watching the newsfeed from the TV in the break room. I had a horrible feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach and a terrible fear that I had just witnessed my sister's death. What I didn't know was that while Tony Stark was in the midst of an intense one-on-one battle with a Chitauri, and losing, my sister had gone at the creature armed with nothing but a staple remover and fierce tenacity. She had accidentally ripped out its breathing apparatus in the fight, thus suffocating the thing, and then simultaneously saving Tony Stark's life. Which, of course, lead to Tony helping save the rest of the world with his super pals.

That was the day I decided never to underestimate my sister again. That was also the day she won my father's pride, something I had yet to achieve.

After the attack was over and flights were no longer grounded, I booked the earliest one to New York to make sure my sister was okay and that she had a place to stay. Her Manhattan apartment had been decimated, but she didn't seem too broken up about it since I found her at Stark Tower with messy hair, no bra on under her wrinkled work shirt, and hickeys hidden under her collar.

Since then Tony was doing everything he could to buy her affection. She never outright told me if they were dating or not but they were always together, the media knew they were together, and during the holidays I got a few ridiculously expensive gifts in the mail from Iron Man. And then I got a letter of apology from my sister, who found his constant purchase obnoxious.

In fact, the phone I was using to call her on was a gift from Tony, and I had refused to send it back because it was made of a thin piece of clear glass and hadn't even been released to the public yet. She answered on the second ring. Or at least someone did.

"Hello, you've reached the secretary of Miss Clara Hayes," Tony replied in a weak impression of Marilyn Monroe. "I am afraid that Miss Hayes is disinclined at the moment. Would you be so kind as to leave a message?"

"Tony," I said, walking into the living room and kicking my shoes into their regular place by the door. "You know it's me and you know why I'm calling. Either put her on the phone or explain to me why you agreed to help Hill and Romanoff bug my house."

"Well, for one thing," he said in his regular voice. "I bugged your house months ago. And two, they said it was to, you know, keep you alive. Which, believe it or not, is something I am very interested in doing. Because if I fail to do so I won't have anyone TO NAG ME ANYMORE, and you know how I love it when she nags." I sighed and plopped down on my puffy blue couch.

"Shut up and give me the phone," I heard my sister say to him as I leaned against the arm of the couch and put my head in my hand. It was still early, but I wanted to close my eyes and fall asleep right there. I heard the phone shuffle again, but Tony stayed on the line.

"No, I'm not giving you anything."

"For God sake, Tony," I snapped. "Did you really bug my house?"

"Technically no. But also technically yes. Technically it's JARVIS and not me. I can't listen to your conversations, and I can't see you. I just get alerted to a rise in heart rate and heat signatures. Meaning JARVIS tells me when someone is in your house and when you're scared." I thought about this for a second.

"Oh… Does this mean you can also tell when I have sex?"

"Well, I would be able to… if you had any." I heard the phone shuffle again and he whispered. "And don't worry about the nightmares. I haven't told her."

"Well, thanks."

"No problem. And I'm also pretty sure there's a raccoon living in your attic."

"His name is Rocket. We have made peace. So what do you think of this job, mission thing? What have they told you?"

"They haven't told me anything. So naturally, I know everything. And I think it's a stupid idea and you shouldn't do it. But I also think it's your business and you can do whatever you want." Well… if he wasn't scolding me then that meant he didn't know my new mission killed his parents.

"I was sort of looking for your opinion," I told him. I didn't want to be the one to tell him if he didn't already know.

"Well, I'm guessing you already accepted the job. So my opinion is useless."

"Tony, you're being a little bit creepy."

"Blame your sister. She's the one who's worried about you."

"Put her on the phone."

"Yep." I heard the phone move again, and I pressed my phone to my shoulder so I could peel off my socks.

"Hi, Jo," I heard my sister respond.

"Why did you let your boyfriend bug my house?" I asked as I flung them across the room. They landed by the entertainment center, and I decided I would get them later.

"I didn't LET him bug your house. I told him I was worried about you and that whenever I ask how you're doing you lie to me."

"You know it's a little creepy, right?"

"I know it is. I told him that. That's why he didn't actually bug you. He just has JARVIS monitor you. By the way, I DO know about the nightmares, TONY. And not because I'm a creep but because I'm a good sister, and I know that you're not okay."

"I'm fine. I'm doing great considering. I mean… since the whole thing with HYDRA. It could be a lot worse. I could be rotting in a jail cell. My therapist said I was making progress. Of course, that was before."

"Your therapist worked for SHIELD."

"So did I."

"Yeah, but you didn't have a gun pointed on every individual person in… I don't know… the world."

"That was HYDRA."

"SHIELD, HYDRA. What difference does it make?"

"Your boyfriend is the one who helped design the weapon that would have otherwise killed the both of you. I know you've always had this distrust in SHIELD, and I don't blame you for that. But those of us who were actually in it for the right reasons saved your asses. You don't have to be thankful, but you can be a little bit more considerate."

"I just wish you picked less dangerous occupations," she said.

"I wish you picked less dangerous boyfriends," I countered. That wasn't true. I liked Tony a lot. Even if his shenanigans did sometimes put my sister's life at risk. She went silent for a moment.

"Fine. You win this time," she finally answered.

"Good. So what do you think of this mission? Don't act like you don't already know. Tony tells you everything." I leaned back against the couch as she sighed heavily.

"I think it sounds crazy and cliché like one of those cheesy romantic comedy movies where they pretend to be dating and end up falling in love."

"I'm not going to fall in love with Captain America."

"Can't fall in love with Cap, he has a girlfriend. Or a someone at least. I don't know what she is," I heard Tony say in the background.

"What?" me and Clara both replied.

"Wow, you guys are so far out of the loop."

"Since when does he have a girlfriend? He never said anything about it," Clara argued with him.

"You don't remember the mutant chick he was banging before he went off to DC?"

"Banging, really? Was that necessary? And what mutant?"

"So far out of the loop. What do we ever even talk about?"

"Did you know he had a girlfriend? Why do they need you to do this job if he has a girlfriend?"

"Well mutant, being the key word, dear. Also, she lives in New York."

"Okay, can you guys stop arguing for like five seconds so I can talk to my sister?" I finally asked.

"Sorry," they both replied. I had a feeling that Tony had put me on speaker, and his answer proved my theory.

"Okay, so anyway. Do you think this is a bad idea or what?" I heard my sister sigh the exact same way I did. We sighed about everything.

"I don't know, Jo," she said. "I think it's stupid. And he sounds like a dangerous guy. I mean… from the few files that Hill sent us. And he nearly took Washington off the map."

"He didn't do it singlehandedly. And according to Rogers he was brainwashed."

"Brainwashed or not, he still seems dangerous. People don't just… bounce back from that kind of stuff. But you're just supposed to offer a safe place, right? So just be careful. And keep us informed. I know you can't really tell us what's going on after next week… but you can at least let me know you're okay. And I don't just mean physically."

"I will. And I'll do my best to keep safe. I've lasted this long. What's a one-armed super soldier against me?"

"Not funny."

"It was a little funny," I heard Tony say.

"Not funny," she repeated. I rubbed the ache from my forehead.

"All right. Well, I have to go get started on my house. I'll call you again before everything gets set up."

"All right. Bye, Jo."

"Bye."

* * *

Shout out to Rocket for being this raccoon's namesake. Not actual Marvel character, Rocket. Just a joke. Hardy har.

This is like one of my favorite chapters. Writing for Tony gives me immense joy. Also, as I explained in my Loki story. There are mutants in my Marvel universe. Maybe not to the extent of X-Men where there's a lot of politics and concerns about mutant rights. But they do exist.

*Edited*


	4. Chapter 4

The worst part about this "mission" was not the possibility of being murdered by a super-soldier with a robotic arm. It was waitressing. Hill set up the job so I could establish my false life at least one week before Rogers was set to come to my house, and possibly bring along a trailing shadow.

They had already sent someone to work on my house. They arrived at sunrise as I was walking out the front door to head to the restaurant. People were coming in and out of my house with flower planters and lawn mowers because apparently my house wasn't as warm and fuzzy as this super assassin needed. I never mowed my lawn. Ever. Sometimes a kid who lived down the street from me would offer to do it for a small fee, and that was the only time it ever got done. And I usually only ever did it when my dad reminded me on one of his phone lectures.

Romanoff had made it very clear that I was supposed to appear as kind and gentle as a "fairy princess." To be honest, I didn't expect my house to make the cut. I didn't use it for anything other than sleeping, eating, and a place to spend my off days watching Tvland reruns. So it wasn't exactly "fairytale castle" material. And by the time my shift would be over at the diner, my house would be what Romanoff and Hill deemed a "threat-free environment."

When I was in high school, I had one real job. Usually I made extra money helping out my grandparents or occasionally going to work with my dad to clean up his office. But one time in my senior year of high school my parents were short on cash, and I couldn't afford the money needed to cover the cost of my prom dress. So I got a job and paid for it myself. I was a waitress at a chain pancake restaurant in town. And I hated every second of it.

I felt all of that hatred coming back to me when I stepped into that diner. It was originally supposed to be a 50's themed diner with pictures of Elvis, James Dean, and various old cars along the walls. The floor was tiled in a checkerboard pattern, and their biggest seller was their old fashioned malts. I had never even heard of the place before I got the job, but I already felt my dislike for all the greasy food and I knew I was going to want to destroy the shake machine before leaving for the day.

The dining area was fairly small with several booths along the windows, a few tables, and a bar where customers could sit and play with the non-working jukebox selectors as they waited for food. A girl was already standing behind the counter making a milkshake when I came in. She appeared to be the only person in the dining area besides a man at the bar drinking coffee and a mom with a sleepy kid, eagerly awaiting his shake.

I headed back and introduced myself to the girl making the milkshake. She said her name was Megan or Morgan, but I couldn't remember which because we didn't have nametags. She had choppy black hair that was pulled back into a ponytail even though her hair wasn't long enough, and she was tall and looked uncomfortable in her clunky wedge sneakers.

When she was done showing me how to make the shake, she took it out to the little boy sitting in a back booth with his mom. She was smiling brightly like it wasn't bright and early in the morning. Then she came back around the counter and nodded for me to follow her into the back to meet the manager.

I was going to be in training for two days and then I was going to be observed for the rest of the week. I knew how to do the job since I'd done it before, so it wasn't too difficult to get started. I just didn't like the job at all. I never wanted to go back to it, and I hated HYDRA even more for getting me stuck there. The only consolation was that Rogers was going to pay me the difference, and I'd be able to afford my mortgage payment.

By the time my shift was over everything below the waist hurt. My thighs ached, my knees, my calves, and especially my feet. I used to wake up every single morning at 4am and run laps with a bunch of stinky sweaty people. But I would rather go back to that than spend another day waiting tables. My head was pounding, my stomach felt heavy with fried food, and I wanted to go home and never come back. Luckily I didn't have to stay late, so I rushed out of there the first chance I got.

My house was different when I arrived. The front lawn had been mowed to my father's standards, and flowers had been planted in the little boxes outside of my window. There was a small potted shrub beside the front door and a welcome mat with little polka dots. The inside had been cleaned from top to bottom. There were no more cobwebs on the ceiling fans. There were decorative quilts and pillows. They'd even put a worn and weathered looking patio set in the small backyard.

I climbed the stairs to the second floor and found my bathroom neatly cleaned with a small soap dish and a friendly shower curtain. My bed was made and all my work clothes had been removed from my closet. The box that held all my military memorabilia was missing, along with my collection of knives. Romanoff said they were going to put my stuff in storage. I really hoped nothing happened to them.

After I was done examining my new house, I sat down on my bed in the center of my room and took off my shoes. I stretched my toes and noted that, despite the new curtains, my room was still relatively dark. I really wished they hadn't called an exterminator to get rid of Rocket. I knew he posed a risk to my health and my home, but I didn't want the poor guy out on his own. And sometimes his scurrying and chattering was comforting.

It wasn't that I found the new looks uncomfortable. I got to wear my weekend clothes every day, and I had always wanted my house to be as welcoming and warm as my childhood home. I just rarely spent any time in it and, therefore, never spent any time ON it. My weekends were spent drowning out the silence, not tending to gardens and waxing floors.

I always thought that I was a fairly organized person until Clara went off to college and left me at home in Ohio with the growing clutter. My mother always said that Clara was destined to be rich and never have any children. I was destined to be a mom. I liked kids, from a distant sort of way. But anyone could be a mom. Moms were awesome, yes. Or at least mine was, but it just seemed too easy to me. My mother made it seem like I would just pop out kids and dedicate my life to caring for them. Instead of doing anything worthwhile.

Clara had to fight her way to the top tooth and nail. She worked her ass of through high school and college, then she got her dream job with Stark Industries. Then somehow the bastard had fallen head over heels for her, and while Tony was a great business man, he still needed her skills. She was a Public Relations Executive. His private PR, and he relied on her for the skills she brought to his company. That's what I wanted. To be needed. To be so good at something that I became invaluable to a greater cause. Not because I could change diapers and run a vacuum, but because I had a brain and talents. Like Clara.

So I joined the military to prove that I was strong enough to do something bigger. To prove to my father that my kindness and gentleness had nothing to do with my strength. I had worked as hard as Clara did. I gave the army everything that I had. I took up hobbies that got me noticed by Special Forces. I was destined for great things. I could help people. I could be a doctor. But I would also be a force to be reckoned with. I could make my father proud.

And I couldn't even do that. I got my comrades killed. I failed to save a group of children. I couldn't even pull a damn trigger. And now I was waitressing so that Captain America could use my house to find his friend. So that a potentially dangerous HYDRA experiment didn't find me too threatening.

Of course they'd chosen me. I was so non-threatening that Colonel Talbot took one look at me and determined that there was no possible way HYDRA could have used me. I had been the least threatening SHIELD agent in the entire district.

I was a failure.

* * *

Sorry for this filler chapter already. It was originally going to be longer but then it was just too damn long. And I didn't want to add anything or remove anything. So just left it as is.

Also, if you didn't read my recent blog, I have a SHIELD watching beta now. So there have been changes made to the previous three chapters. I haven't been watching Agents of SHIELD so there were things I didn't know about SHIELD in relation to this story. Now that I DO know these things, I can alter my story accordingly. Chapter 1 and 3 were left relatively the same, with just a few minor alterations to fit with the Agents of SHIELD changes. But Chapter 2 has been completely rewritten. So it might be important to check that out.


	5. Chapter 5

I was right about hating the milkshake machine. The day before I had been forced just to follow another waitress around and take mental notes about what she did. Now I was required to hand out plates and make milkshakes and take orders, though supervised. The milkshake machine was a noisy, messy thing that shook violently and probably needed a lot of repair work. If I didn't hate the place after I left I might convince Stark to send them an upgrade, though that would probably kill the vintage theme.

I had my hand on top of the machine as the other one tried to balance the rest of it. I had made three milkshakes already, and it wasn't even noon yet. I felt Megan or Morgan slide up to me and smile. She was new like I was. Though she had been there for a bit longer and was already off probation. Customers seemed to like her a lot. Everyone treated her like she had been there for years.

"There's a hot guy who wants to talk to you," she said.

"A what?" I asked, half shouting over the noisy machine.

"A hot guy. Over there." She pointed down the length of the bar where a man was leaning against the counter. He gave me a quick wave. It was Sam Wilson. "Do you know him?" she asked. I did, but I couldn't tell her that.

"No," I said turning off the machine. I gave him a gesture to "hold on" and finished the milkshake. I took it out to the customer who ordered it, shared a few quick words and then told Megan/Morgan I was going on my break. Sam was waiting for me at the end of the counter as I approached him.

"Johanna Hayes," he said. I nodded.

"That's me," I replied. I gave him an expectant look.

"Oh, right. Sam Wilson." He stuck his hand out, and I shook it.

"Nice to… meet you, Sam."

"I came uh… on behalf of Steve." I glanced around to see if anyone was watching. Morgan/Megan had her eyes on him. I nodded quickly.

"Right. Steve. Can I get you something? A burger? Some fries? Please don't ask for a milkshake." He offered me a smile.

"A Coke would be nice."

"Have a seat… in the back booth. I'll go get it."

"Thanks."

He headed toward the booth at the far end of the dining area. I went back around the counter to the soda fountain to get his drink. Megan/Morgan walked over to me, still watching Sam over my shoulder.

"He's cute," she said. I nodded.

"He's a friend of my…" I didn't want to say boyfriend. I had only met Rogers once, and I didn't want to call him my boyfriend. "Guy… friend… that I see on occasion," I eventually said. Her eyebrows rose in pleasant surprise.

"So you have an occasional guy friend? Is he cute too?"

"He's big… kind of muscular. Drives a motorcycle."

"Nice."

"Yep."

I felt kind of awkward so I hurried with the soda and rushed over to the back booth so I could set it on the table. I took a seat before Sam. He had his back to the far wall, and his arm stretched out over the back of the seat. I was usually the one who sat with my back against the wall, always facing the door. I felt uncomfortable having my back exposed, but waitress Jo wasn't supposed to be uncomfortable with things like that. So I folded my fingers in my lap.

"What do you need to talk to me about?" I whispered. He leaned forward, keeping his eyes on the busy room. Luckily no one was in our corner, so I felt mostly safe speaking to him there. The sound of customers and the obnoxious milkshake machine would drown out any interference.

"Just passing along some tips from Steve since you guys can't talk yet," he whispered back as he rubbed the straw between his fingers. "Some stuff SHIELD didn't know or stuff he wants to keep on the down low." My eyebrows creased in confusion.

"What kind of tips?"

"This guy… Bucky or whatever. He's a total nut bag. I had the misfortune of meeting him myself. But it's a real touchy subject for Steve. They were best friends. Brothers. It's hard to wake up one day and find that seventy years has passed, and all your friends are dead or dying. Barnes' death was one of the hardest on him. One he had to watch himself. He wants to find the guy, but he doesn't trust the government. He's afraid they'll either kill him or manipulate him. To him this isn't about finding Barnes. This is about helping him. You understand?"

"So this isn't… this isn't about locating a potential threat. This mission is going to be a lot longer than I anticipated, isn't it?" He sighed heavily and finally moved his dark eyes to mine.

"Look," he said with a shrug. "It's a real important mission for Steve. He doesn't want you to get hurt, but he wants you to acknowledge that it's a real possibility. You can back out any time you want. But be careful how you treat this mission. Especially with Steve. This guy isn't my favorite. In fact, I don't like him very much." He gave me a laugh, and I smiled. "But I like Steve and I know it's important for him to help this guy… you know… recover." My smile dropped.

"Recovery doesn't just happen overnight."

"I know, and that worries Steve too. But he figures he just needs to get through to this guy, and he can save him. Barnes' mind is uh… delicate, let's put it that way. He's prone to violence, and I know you're ex-Special Forces but he uh…"

"It's okay. I'm pretty sure he can take me." He laughed. "And I can relate to the situation. I can handle it."

"Are you sure about that?"

"No."

His eyes moved passed me, and I turned to my head to watch as Megan/Morgan approached the table with a basket.

"Thought you guys might like some fries," she said as she sat the basket down on the table between us.

"I think we're good, Morgan," I said. She gave Sam a smile and walked off. He watched her go.

"Nice kid," he said leaning over the table. He took a fry from the basket and twirled it in his fingers. "Steve just wanted me to tell you a few things about his past with Barnes. Stuff a guy might tell his girlfriend. Best friends growing up. Steve was the puny nerdy one. Barnes was the protective older brother type. Proud. Lady's man. Thought he had something to prove." I felt a knot form in the pit of my stomach. "You know back in those days guys thought going to war was the best way to do that. Shipped off, became a sergeant. Damn near perfect shot as it already was. Would have risked his life for Steve. Then ended up giving it for him."

"I already know most of this stuff."

"That's all Steve would tell me. I don't know what the hell else he wanted me to tell you." He stuck one of the thick cut fries into his mouth, and I waited for him to finish.

"Maybe he just wanted you to check me out," I offered. He shrugged.

"I'll tell him nice things, I promise. What about you? Any questions for me?" I watched him sift through the basket of fries.

"What about Steve's girlfriend? His real one?" He paused.

"She's not his girlfriend. Not anymore. Complicated history, I guess. Never told me much about her."

"Why isn't she here playing this role instead of me?"

"Dunno," he said as he ate more french-fries. "Considering what he HAS told me about her, I guess it would be easy for Barnes to view her as a threat."

"Why? Because she's a mutant?"

"How did you know that?" he asked with furrowed eyebrows.

"Stark told me." He huffed.

"Never even met the guy and he already gets on my nerves." I shrugged.

"He grows on you."

"He's good."

"He's the best. He just knows that he's the best," I replied.

"Well yeah, because she's a mutant. It wouldn't take Barnes too long to figure it out. Steve probably also doesn't want her to get involved. She's not as strong as you."

He had his eyes on his basket of fries, but the words shocked me anyway. I never viewed myself as strong anymore. I couldn't shoot a man. I couldn't sleep without horrible nightmares. I owned a pink knife with sparkles on it. And Sam Wilson thought I was stronger than a girl with a naturally born super power.

I cleared my throat and looked at the clock above the window that separated the kitchen from the dining area.

"I should probably get back to work," I told him. "If that's all you wanted to talk to me about." He shrugged.

"That's all I can think of at the moment. I figure if you're Steve's girl now, it might be nice for us to be friends." I nodded and stood to my feet.

"Yeah, I'll invite you over for dinner sometime." He looked up at me and smiled.

"That was a joke, wasn't it?" I laughed.

"We'll have a pizza party."

"Sounds good to me." I returned the smile.

"I'll cover your drink and fries."

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me. Rogers is paying my tab." He lifted his Coke in mock cheers.

"To freedom," he said. I laughed and shook my head.

* * *

Sorry that this is kind of another filler chapter. It exists for the sole purpose of having some more Sam Wilson. I felt this story's lack of Falcon was tragic and I decided to change it. Plus, Steve has no way to talk to her before shit gets done because of the possibility of leading Bucky to her before everything is set up. So he sent Sam to check her out. Everyone wants Bucky because they're afraid of the damage he might cause. Steve want's to save him.


	6. Chapter 6

I paced back and forth in my freshly cleaned living room as I waited for Rogers to arrive. I had spent the afternoon furiously scrubbing the place all over again to keep my mind from wandering and my nerves from taking over. I hadn't seen Rogers all week, and the only contact I'd had from him came from that one visit with Wilson and various texts from Romanoff as she explained our cover.

We started dating when Rogers was transferred to DC from New York. We met at a café I worked at before the diner. Agent Romanoff had been bothering Rogers to find a girlfriend, he had asked out the first person who came to mind. Me, the lowly waitress. I was just the right amount of sweet and old-fashioned that the good old Captain looked for in a girl, and we got caught up in an on again off again secret romance.

Rogers was prone to running off on missions and not wanting to drag me into his problems, and this was supposed to explain why Barnes hadn't seen me until now. This would also explain to any of Rogers' possible tails why they didn't know about his "secret girlfriend."

So because of his tendency to disappear I was supposed to be accustomed to him showing up on my doorstep every once in a while all bloodied and bruised and apologetic. I would always quickly forgive him, though our relationship was strained. According to Romanoff, we were those "broken souls" who "found comfort" in one another.

Rogers' apartment had been wrecked when Director Fury was assassinated. His new place was surrounded by government officials. He didn't think it was likely that Barnes would try to contact him so close to so many spies, but he was good at sneaking away and so a few nights every week he would spend at my house. He would come over, and we would show our affection at the front door, cuddle in front of the TV, and then go to bed… in my bed, which was much too small for him in the first place. However, we were all hoping Barnes didn't question why we were never going to sleep naked.

Not that Cap wasn't really attractive or anything, just that sex wasn't part of the job description. Not to mention I was quite certain that he could care less about sex at all, let alone with a stranger he only met for the sake of this false environment. And that wasn't bringing the mystery girl from New York into the picture either.

Rogers was known for being punctual and the minutes were ticking toward his expected arrival. Prior to this night, Barnes would have no idea that I existed at all. There was a minuscule chance that he might have seen me at the diner with Sam, but it was incredibly unlikely that he would be following Sam. And he wouldn't have gotten much from that meeting at all, except that Sam talked to the waitress that would later be revealed as Rogers' girlfriend.

The doorbell rang at precisely nine o' clock. I hadn't acted since drama class in high school, and I hoped that I played the part right. I was supposed to be sweet and gentle. But I had the feeling sweet and gentle wasn't exactly Rogers' type. I shook out my fingers and stood up to get the door.

"Steve," I said in mock surprise when I found the man standing on my front steps. He gave me a half-smile, but it lacked warmth, and it seemed like he still hadn't slept much. Although he'd styled his hair again.

"Hi," he replied softly.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry… for being here so late. And not calling," he said in an overwrought voice that suggested he was uncomfortable with this act. "I just… didn't want you to get involved." His words seemed forced, and I hoped Barnes didn't have enough memory of him to realize he was a terrible actor.

"I figured you were part of it," I said quietly as I held onto the door. "Everything that happened, I mean." He gave a nod and looked into the house expectantly.

"Yeah, can we talk inside?" I nodded and stepped back to let him into the house.

* * *

God, please don't hate me? There was so much of this story I had to build up before Bucky came. I'm so sorry. I did not realize the extent of it when I started out.


	7. Chapter 7

I bought my house after I got the job with SHIELD and had more money than I could spend. I only did it because I felt like it was what adults did. In reality I didn't know how to survive on the outside world. I was a soldier, and prior to that I was just a kid. Instead of growing up and learning how to be an adult like Clara did, I joined the army. So when I got back Clara was off in New York working in Public Relations and living in a fancy Manhattan apartment.

I didn't know what I was supposed to do. The SHIELD recruitment had been lucky. I was referred by a higher officer and one of many to apply. I took pride in the fact that I had what I considered a normal job. I did paperwork, despite having been trained in medicine, I knew how to shoot a gun, despite having never turned it on anyone. I knew how it worked. I knew how to care for it. I knew how much of a thrill it brought me when I went in for my weekly practice. But shooting paper men was different than shooting real ones.

The house had been a split-moment decision. I thought that was the next step after getting a job. Clara still rented, when she wasn't in Stark's penthouse. But that was in New York and sometimes California. So I bought the shoddy thing and lived on my own with no pets or boyfriends or pleasant neighbors.

That was the main reason they decided to keep me in my own house instead of putting me up in a temporary one. That and the fact that they no longer had SHIELD funding and the government would likely question why I left my house for no good reason. I had already established a life there. My neighbors didn't know what I did for a living. They paid no attention to me. They paid so little attention that Captain America could walk down the street in his star spangled uniform and they still wouldn't notice.

He sat at my kitchen table, luckily not in the star spangled uniform. He was picking at the wood grains that had been stained by years of coffee spills. He wasn't drinking the water I'd set down in front of him. I stood by the kitchen sink, directly in front of the window that overlooked the backyard. I didn't think Barnes had enough time to bug the place, if he had even followed Steve at all. Or if he even had access to those resources. I just wanted to block the fact that Rogers and I weren't talking.

He was a large man. I'd only seen him a few times since he showed back up again in New York and joined the Avengers Initiative. I saw him stalking around HQ a few times. I'd only just met him a week ago and this was the first time we had been alone together.

"So," I said quietly as I gripped the sink behind me and tried to appear more comfortable with the strange, large man at my table. He had his back to the wall and didn't seem to appear very comfortable. "Did I pass Wilson's inspection?" He gave a short laugh.

"You passed just fine," he replied.

"Do you think I appear gentle enough? What was it Romanoff said? Fairy princess?"

"Well, you look… nice." I stifled a laugh.

"You don't have to flatter me, Rogers. Steve. I'm sorry. It's going to take me some time to get used to being on a first name basis with Captain America."

"Unfortunately we're going to have to get used to it. Bucky will see right through our plan if you call me Rogers." I nodded and looked toward the fridge on the left side of my small kitchen. "So what do you prefer to be called? Jo? Jo-hanna? Jo-anna? Or is it Yo-honna? Yo-hanna?"

"Try not to overthink it. Technically it's Yo-honna. But no one ever calls me that. Jo is fine. I think Romanoff decided Jo was the least threatening. That's what my family calls me."

"But what do you prefer?" I cut my eyes to him again and shrugged.

"Doesn't matter. He'll probably see right through this anyway."

"Why do you say that?" He looked up at me with a concerned expression. He was looking a bit better than he had the week before. His hair wasn't a mess and the dark circles under his eyes weren't as pronounced.

"You've been to war, Steve. You know what it does to people. You know what it's like when you come home and everything is different. Whether it's four years or seventy. You can read it on people. You can just tell." He pressed his fingers against his strong chin and focused on the wood grain again.

"Yeah, but I'm hoping he either doesn't recognize it or he attributes it to something else."

"I'm sure I can come up with something."

"Just make sure you tell me what it is so I don't get caught off guard." We both smiled again, and then I turned to look at him with narrowed eyes.

"So why'd you send Wilson to come talk to me?" I asked him. "He said you wanted to give me some tips. But then he just sort of told me a shortened version of your friendship with Barnes and ate a bunch of French fries." He laughed.

"This mission is going to be difficult," he explained as he rubbed his eyes and leaned back in the chair, making it creak against his weight. "And I don't know you well enough to trust you. I'm sorry for that."

"It's fine."

"I just wanted to be sure you could handle the situation delicately. I heard about your incident with the… the pink knife. I just don't think that's the right approach to take with Bucky. And I don't know if that's an instinct or…" I looked down at the linoleum floor and shifted my feet.

"You're actually worried that I'm too dangerous." I almost laughed. I shook my head instead. "It was instinct. That time. But it could have been worse. Remember I had a gun on me too. It was self-defense."

"I'm not talking about the incident with HYDRA. I'm referring to the incident with Oscar Harman." I nodded slowly and crossed my arms.

"Oscar Harman was my boyfriend. And he was HYDRA. And an asshole. I didn't attack him unprovoked. He shoved me into the refrigerator. I mean, I probably could have kicked him out without having to use my knife but I think he deserved it." He smiled and for once it seemed genuine.

"I just don't know what will set Bucky off. He might get dangerous and he might view a knife as an attack, regardless of your purpose for pulling it out. It's not that I don't want you to defend yourself. I just don't want you to get killed either. Alerting Stark is the safest way to go about it." I nodded quickly.

"Understood. I'll keep the knife in check. I'm smart enough to know I can't go up against Robocop. I'll call for help like a good girl." He didn't seem to find that funny, but he didn't say anything about it. "Anyway, are you going to be comfortable sharing a bed with me? Hill said you're kind of old fashioned. Romanoff said… almost the same thing. Except not as nice. And uh, Stark kind of mentioned a possible love interest." Then he got tense again.

"I can sleep on the couch. It won't be a problem."

"That's not what I'm asking," I said with a laugh. "I just don't want you to be uncomfortable. You're hardly the first captain I've had in my bed… That was a joke. I was trying to make you relax. But Romanoff said you're also kind of outdated with your sense of humor too." He smiled and relaxed into the chair again. He folded his hands on the table in front of him, still appearing proper and poised and therefore uncomfortable.

"My sense of humor is just fine," he said. "It's an edgy situation. I know he won't come back tonight, if he does at all. I just don't like putting someone else's life in danger for the sake of a lie." I bit my lip and looked down at my feet again.

"So you really loved him, huh?" I asked. He glanced at me again.

"He was my best friend. He was there for me when I thought I had no one else. He was my brother and he's all I have left." I nodded slowly.

"What about your friends? What about Wilson and Romanoff?"

"I'm ninety five years old. I don't exactly 'fit in." I snorted a laugh. He was older than my grandparents and he was sitting in my kitchen pretending to be my boyfriend and had the face of a lovable puppy dog. "He's my brother," he continued, seriously. "Not by blood but in every other way." I gave another nod.

"I understand that kind of affection. Maybe not entirely. My sister never had to pull me out of fights or anything. But… she did kill a chitauri with a staple remover." He nodded and his eyebrows rose.

"I heard that story. Very impressive."

"You don't think Barnes will find out about her, do you?"

"No, your sister is with Stark. She's safer than anyone."

"Do you think this will actually work?"

"I'm not sure yet. How about you?" I took a moment to answer the question.

"I don't know either of you well enough to have an answer. All I know is that when I did… if I… lost my memory and didn't know who I was. I would want to talk to the person who did." He nodded thoughtfully. "I'm going to bed, Steve. It's small but you probably weren't going to get much sleep anyway."

"Yeah," he said. "Probably not."

* * *

Oh my god! I know this is still a Bucky-less chapter but he will be here soon.

But anyway good things have happened in regards to this story. I've just been going through some chapters and doing some edits and adding details, fixing plotholes, and what not. Well yesterday I ended up adding like 4 new chapters. And I had been kind of on the fence about the ending because it didn't sit right with me. But now because of these unexpected new chapters, I have the ending completely figured out. And Oh my god. Even a possible sequel or epilogue. (Probably an epilogue at this point. Don't hold me to a sequel. It's too soon to tell.) BUT IT'S GOING TO BE SUPER AWESOME AND I'M SO EXCITED.

That is all. Continue about your business.


	8. Chapter 8

There was so much screaming. Everything had gone entirely wrong. I wasn't supposed to be there. They said it would be safe and easy. The armor and artillery was just a precaution. We wouldn't need it. But there was so much gunfire and so much screaming.

"Medic! Medic!" someone was shouting from the other side of the building.

My heart was pounding in my chest and my hands were shaking. I didn't want to go over there. Not where the bullets were flying and all those people were screaming. But I heard the voice get more frantic. We came for the children and I had to do it for them. It was the whole reason I trained for the job. I would never forgive myself if I didn't get up.

So I took a deep breath, held my gun against my chest and jumped to my feet.

I ran around the corner to where one of my comrades stood over a bleeding child. She was the one who was screaming, and she couldn't have been more than ten. I could already tell just by the amount of blood that I wouldn't be able to help her.

"I'm here! I'm here!" I shouted as I returned my gun to the strap on my shoulder and traded it for my medi-pack. I pressed my fingers against the ripped cloth he'd pressed against her stomach. He released her and jumped up to join the fighting. The girl looked up at me with tears in her eyes. I knew she probably couldn't understand me and I couldn't understand her. But I wanted to comfort her, even if I couldn't save her life.

"You're okay, sweetie. You're going to be okay," I reassured her as I pulled the fabric away from the wound to assess the damage.

But it was in such a vital spot and the blood wouldn't stop. Even if I could stop it she was still going to die. There was too much damage to her internal organs. There was no exit wound. I bit my lip to stop the rush of emotion that wanted to burst out of me. I looked up to give her a forced smile.

"Don't be afraid," I said. I heard some shouting across the street where most of the fighting was taking place. For a moment the gunfire stopped and then I heard the one word I didn't want to hear.

"Grenade!"

The explosion rocked the building. One moment I was looking into that little girl's eyes and the next thing I knew I was yards away, lying on a pile of debris on my stomach. I could feel the burns against my ear and my face. I could hear the ringing in my ears that drowned out all noise aside from the beating of my heart. I struggled to get back to my feet and looked around to see what had happened to the little girl.

She was lying several feet away from me under a blanket of plaster and brick. Her eyes were still wet with tears but stared unblinking in my direction.

"Jo. Jo!" a voice said through the ringing, and I felt hands on my shoulders. I gasped and wrapped my hands around his thick arms.

"Steve," I replied when my surroundings finally began to make sense. I was at home in my dark room with the tree shaded walls. Steve was in my bed, shaking me out of my nightmares.

"Are you okay?" he asked, as a fellow soldier, not the lover he was pretending to be. My heart was pounding and in the silence I could hear my own breathing. I was shaking and my body was damp with sweat. I nodded anyway.

"I'm fine," I told him. "I'll be fine." But then his eyebrows creased in the darkness as he looked at me more thoroughly than most people did. It was the way fellow soldiers looked at me on the outside. As an equal, a comrade, someone who understood. Not a patient or a sister or a daughter.

"You don't really believe that," he said flatly. I released his arms and tried to relax onto my mattress. I rubbed my forehead as he leaned against his elbows and rested his hand under his head to balance himself on the small iron-framed bed.

"No," I admitted. "I don't believe that." Then I rolled over to face away from him. I felt him shift and then his arm wrapped around my body, heavy and warm. "You don't have to do that," I whispered. "No one is going to see."

"I know," he replied.

I didn't say anything, but I kept my eyes on the window where shadows danced along the glass. A pale green light was causing the shadows to stand out more than usual. That meant my neighbor's porch light was on. It was a motion sensor light. They didn't have any pets. I figured it was Rocket, my raccoon friend. I closed my eyes and sighed. Steve's body was warm against me and I felt my heart begin to relax. This wasn't part of the deal but I appreciated it anyway.

"Goodnight, Steve," I said.

"Goodnight, Jo," he replied.

* * *

Some more good guy Steve.


	9. Chapter 9

If I ever had to pick the perfect housemate, it would be Steve Rogers. He didn't stay with me every night, but whenever he did my house always ended up magically cleaner than it had been before he arrived. He was quiet too. We talked in soft voices because we hardly knew what to say and didn't want our discomfort with each other to be overheard. But he cooked, he cleaned, and when he was upstairs he didn't stomp on the floor and shake the light fixtures.

I say this because my ex-boyfriend, Agent Oscar Harman, had done that exact thing. Whenever he came to stay with me, which was often because he didn't like his neighbors, he would leave behind a trail of garbage. He would walk around upstairs and stomp on the floor so that the lights rattled and I could never concentrate. He didn't cook, he didn't clean, and he sang. God, he sang awful.

He was the only boyfriend I'd had since I was discharged. He was a SHIELD agent. Scratch that. HYDRA. And I didn't know that. No one did. But I had seen something in him. I didn't know what it was at the time. But I knew it was something dark. It was a hunger for power and control. Something was off. And not just because he stomped around my house like a triceratops. But because he felt the need to shove me into my refrigerator over an argument about dirty laundry. And then I had him pinned to the floor with my favorite pink switchblade pressed to his throat.

I won't lie. He was well trained and he could have snapped my neck with his pinky finger. I was ex-special forces, I was a medic, I was trained, and I was damn good. But he was an ex-marine and he was much much bigger than me. He hadn't been the least bit threatened by my bedazzled switchblade. He just laughed in my face and it took everything I had to not give him a little cut.

I made him leave and he went crying to SHIELD about my "erratic behavior." They did an inquiry and determined they were "concerned" about my tendency to "snap." But allowed me to keep my gun and my knife and just said they'd keep an eye on me. Nothing ever came of it because I never "snapped" again. And the fight with HYDRA didn't count because everyone was fighting and I just provided amusement.

After HYDRA fell Oscar took off like the rat dog he was and I hadn't seen him since. Our breakup had happened long before HYDRA fell but he was the one who started the running joke about me and my stupid bedazzled switchblade. He was the first to laugh when I whipped it out in the middle of a gunfight. I always kept it on me just in case I ever saw him again. I probably could have shot him without any remorse, but if he was going to die I wanted it to be because a sparkly pink knife was sticking out of his chest.

Aside from him the only other housemate I'd had was my family and my battalion. My parents had always been obnoxiously loud and stompy. My sister was an easy housemate because she did all the cleaning in our room. She complained about it a lot, but she did it anyway. The point is I just didn't know a whole lot about living with other people.

Having Steve in my house was actually more welcoming than bothersome. Even though he worried about it constantly. He was a nice guy and did his best to keep me comfortable. He never used the upstairs bathroom except to shower. He never touched my stuff. He always cleaned his dishes and kept his shoes in a neat pile out of the way.

We didn't really click enough to get comfortable with the affection we were supposed to be showing. The both of us were too quiet and withdrawn as it was. Technically we had more in common than we let on, but we weren't supposed to talk about those things. So we found our conversations always fell short. And we just hoped Barnes either wasn't watching or figured we just had a riff in our already shoddy relationship.

Steve was sitting at my kitchen table again but he wasn't any less tense than usual. His shoulders were always squared and his eyes were always alert. He'd spent the entire day with me as we gallivanted around the yard mowing the lawn and pulling up weeds. We laughed and showed off and pretended to be happy. But even then he was always watching the shadows.

I made him some tea. I was hoping it would relax him a bit. Clara always drank tea and she said it was the only reason, besides coffee, that she didn't murder Tony. She also said she gave it to Tony when he was stressed out. But then again he probably only let her think that to make her feel better about it. Tony wasn't a soldier, but I could see it as clear as day on his face. The same way everyone else could see it on mine.

Tea never worked for me. Steve took a cautious sip out of a mug I'd stolen from Stark tower. He winced at the heat from the Earl Grey and then looked up at me.

"Mm, thank you," he said, though it felt fabricated. Steve didn't strike me as a tea drinker. But false Jo did.

"I figured fairy princesses are the kind of people who would make you tea," I whispered. He smiled and took another sip.

"I suppose." He sat the mug down on the table and conveniently looked down at the watch on his wrist. "I better get going though. Sam didn't want me to be late. You know… stuff." I nodded quickly as if it didn't bother me that I didn't get to go do "stuff" and I was locked in a waitressing job for two weeks.

"Yeah, of course. More stuff. Will I be seeing you again tonight or are you just going home?"

"Depends on how it plays out. If it's too late I'll just go home. But don't wait up for me."

I nodded as he stood and headed into the hallway that separated the living room from the kitchen. I followed after him to see him to the door. We paused at the entryway with the door open and he leaned in for one of those nervous cheek pecks. We were supposed to be playing the couple part but we hadn't moved on from cheek kissing in front of the door or kitchen window. Romanoff suggested a few things, but Steve would get really flustered and change the subject. The only time he ever showed me affection at all was when I had nightmares and he would wake me up and let me lie against him until I felt comfortable enough to go back to sleep.

It didn't bother me because I didn't think Steve could ever open up to anyone enough for a relationship to become a realistic option. I figured that was why he wouldn't talk about the girl Tony mentioned. But you'd think half living with a guy for a few weeks would initiate some sort of bond or friendship. But the only time we ever bonded was when our pasts came back to haunt us. There was no need for words. We had an understanding. And to be fair, that was all I'd ever wanted from anyone.

Steve was a nice guy though and sometimes when we were playing the part we would laugh and I would begin to believe his laughter was genuine. Steve wasn't a very good liar, but being in my warm fuzzy house was him being taken away from the environment he had built around himself. Steve was meant for dirty work, fighting, and protecting people. And even when he slept he was ridged and straight as an arrow. He would get up at the slightest creak of the house or movement from Rocket in the attic. He would pace in the middle of the night. I never said anything because I paced sometimes too.

I attributed Steve's discomfort to the thoughts of his missing friend. I tried to put myself in his shoes. I imagined myself losing the person I loved the most in the world. Then waking up and realizing I hadn't just lost that person, but everyone else too. I tried to imagine waking up and realizing you were alone, only to be thrust into a battle and shoved into a job you didn't ask for. And then to find that person you thought you lost. To see them tortured and brainwashed and lost to themselves. I didn't have to imagine why it kept him up at night.

Steve gave me a quick, nervous smile before turning and heading down the steps to the motorcycle that was parked against the curb behind my car. I watched him climb onto the bike and kick the engine to life. It rumbled loudly and I closed the door and sighed. I headed back into the kitchen to find his empty mug and lifted it from the table. A new ring was left on the wood grain. I dumped the mug into the sink and then I saw a shadow move from the corner of my eye.

I tried not to freeze. Years of training had taught me to always be alert for dangers in the shadows. A civilian waitress probably wouldn't have noticed the movement, but I felt the hair stand up on the back of my neck and I paused for just a moment. Then I sat the mug down at the bottom of the sink. When I turned around the shadow was standing in the archway, hiding under a dark hooded sweatshirt and baseball cap.

Steve had asked me to keep the house dark. No porch lights. No lights in the small backyard. Only use lights in the rooms I was using. Shut them off as I left. Barnes was more likely to show up if he could hide. And it appeared Steve had been right, but they were all wrong about one small fact. They said Barnes wouldn't show himself to anyone but Steve. Not me. I was just a backup. A prop for the lie. The provider of the threat-free environment.

Then I realized a civilian waitress probably would have panicked at the sight of a strange shadowy man in her hallway. So I jumped backwards against the counter and put my hand to my chest. I won't lie. My heart was pounding and I was itching to reach for the panic button on my bracelet just so I could get out of the situation. But I figured if JARVIS was monitoring my heart and heat signature, he probably already told Tony I wasn't alone. I had been preparing for this moment, so I had to do what I was Steve wanted.

He stood just outside of the kitchen's glow of light. His shoulders were straight and tense like Steve's always were. He was breathing heavy and I couldn't make out much of his face except for the beard growing on his chin. I couldn't see enough of his face to place a resemblance to the photos I was shown, but I figured he was the only one likely to break into my house.

"Bucky?" I asked. His head moved a twitch as if he recognized the name.

"You know who I am?" he asked. His voice was low and gravely, careful of every word. But despite the rawness of his tone I could sense something else. Desperation. Eagerness. Maybe even fear.

"Steve told me about you." He took a step forward and I took a step back, sliding my body along the counter. He froze.

"You're afraid of me." I took a moment to answer.

"Most people would be afraid of a stranger in their house."

"I didn't mean to frighten you. I didn't know where else to go." He reached out and his hand caught the light that was shining from my neighbor's yard and into my window. I could see blood drip from his glove and onto my floor. "I need help."

"Oh my god," I said rushing forward. His hand shot back to his side as if he didn't expect my sudden movement. "Let me help you. Please?" He hesitated as he looked down at his hand, he flexed his fingers almost as if he didn't register the pain. The blood was flowing freely enough to leave behind small puddles and droplets on the linoleum.

"Can you help me?" he finally asked.

"I won't hurt you." I reached for him and he stumbled back and away from me. "Just trust me," I said putting my hands up in surrender. "You know Steve? Captain America? He trusts me. He wouldn't let anything happen to you. And he trusts me." I didn't know how true that was but he looked up at me again, I could see his eyes, shaded by the hat. He stepped into the kitchen again. "Sit down on the chair, okay?" I pulled a chair away from the table and he cautiously limped himself into a seated position, resting his left arm on the table. I kept my eyes on that one. "I'm going to remove your sweater. Is that okay?"

He looked up at me and gave a quick nod. He still seemed too unsure of the situation. He didn't know if he could trust me. Or maybe he just didn't trust himself. I reached forward and gently unzipped the sweater with shaking fingers. I dragged it down across his stomach, revealing the light cotton shirt that probably didn't keep him very warm at night. I glanced at the arm that was resting on my table as he flexed his fingers again, almost testing them. That was the weapon I had to be cautious of.

But he let me pull the hood back and helped me slide his right arm out of the sweater so I could see the gash just below the crease of his elbow. I ran my fingers over his skin, assessing the deepness and making sure not vital tendons or arteries were damaged. Luckily it seemed to just be his skin, although in a soft spot which explained the rapid bleeding.

"I can stitch it for you," I told him. "I used to be a nurse. Or at least, I would have been… if I hadn't quit school." That was a lie, but he didn't know that. "It doesn't look too bad. I just want to make sure the skin heals and keeps an infection out." He nodded shortly again and I ran my fingers down his arm and paused on his purple and disfigured wrist. "What happened to your wrist?"

"Broke it," he said.

"How long ago?"

"I don't know. A few weeks. I heal fast."

"Doesn't matter how fast you heal. The bone needs to be set. If you ever want to use it again." He looked back up at me. His eyes were darkened and threatening.

"I don't know how," he finally said. I nodded.

"I can do it. It's going to hurt but… I can do it. I have a sling too… from a shoulder injury I had a few years ago. You'll want to keep it wrapped up. I'm afraid I don't have the means to build you a cast." I pulled his arm against his lap and he tensed again. I looked back up at him. "Trust me."

He didn't seem to buy it but he let me continue. I ran my fingers over his arm, trying to locate the break and judge how I could reset it. Then I pressed my palm against the side of his wrist and wrapped my hand around his arm.

"Okay," I started. "On three. Are you ready?" He nodded once. "One, two, three." Then I pressed down with all my weight. He cried out in pain and I felt the bone snap back into place. He yanked it away from me and cradled it to his chest. "I'm sorry," I told him.

He didn't answer. So I stood up and went to get my downstairs first-aid kit from the cupboard under the microwave. When I came back he seemed to have collected himself. I sat the kit down on the table beside his metal arm where he could see it.

"I'm afraid I don't have anything to help with the pain. Not unless you want me to take you to the hospital," I said. His eyes snapped in my direction.

"No," he said firmly. I nodded again.

"I kind of figured. But… are you hurt anywhere else? I noticed you were favoring one leg." He made a fist with his left hand and I felt my fingers twitch for the bracelet on my wrist. But then he relaxed his fingers again.

"No," he said.

"The limp?"

"Bruised."

I nodded and opened the large box. I found my old sling, probably too small for his arm, wadded up in a corner. I located a bandage roll and set them out on the table. Then I pulled out a spool of black thread and a decent sized curved needle in a sterilized packet. I always kept two first aid kits in my house. Admittedly, mine were probably better than the store bought kind. But most people didn't have the training required to fix fractures or stitch wounds.

I reached for the chair at the end of the table and dragged it closer to him. It made a loud grinding noise on the floor and he watched it attentively. I sat down slowly beside him. He didn't look at me. His eyes were staring off into the shadowy hallway and he still had his bleeding arm cradled against his chest.

"So… can I ask you a question?" I asked as I reached for his wrist and pulled it away from his body. I took the bandage roll from the table and began to wrap his wrist. I didn't have a splint and this was just going to have to do for now. He didn't answer me. "I just want to know why you came to me instead of Steve. He's sort of… been hoping you might show up," I said as I wrapped the bandage around his wrist.

"I know him," he said after a pause. "I don't know how I know him. I know that I meant something to him. I know that I'm supposed to kill him."

"So… is that why you came to me? Because you think you still have to kill him?"

"I needed help. I didn't know where else to go. I need information too. You were the only option."  
I tied off the bandage and secured it at the end. I hoped that it was tight enough to keep his wrist stable as it healed again. Once that was finished I began to wipe away the blood that was sticking to his skin and pooling in the crease of his elbow. He didn't flinch when the alcohol touched the cut. He didn't even seem to notice it.

"I'm afraid I only know what Steve's told me. Which isn't very much. He's not much of a talker." I smiled but he was still gazing across my kitchen and didn't return it. I wondered if he even knew how to smile.

"I'll take whatever you can give me," he said. I nodded slowly and reached for the needle packet. He was silent as I threaded it and prepped it for his arm.

"I'm going to start now. It'll hurt a bit, okay? But I promise I was really good at stitching." He didn't answer, yet again. So I stuck the needle in his skin and looked up at his face to judge his reaction. His body tensed and his metal fingers had clenched into another fist, but he didn't try to hit me so I continued. "Are you going to tell me what happened?" I asked as I stitched the wound.

"It was an accident," he repeated.

"You didn't hurt anyone, did you?"

"I didn't mean to."

My greatest weakness was my instinct. I reached up and turned his face toward me. His body froze solid like a rock. I had forgotten that he wasn't accustomed to unexpected physical contact. His jaw tightened and his breathing rose.

"What did you do?" I asked him. "Did you hurt someone?"

"I didn't mean to," he repeated in a colder voice.

"You have to call the police."

That was my mistake. HYDRA had turned him into a machine and I had given him the exact push he needed for that machine to spring into existence. What was once a confused, broken man was now a weapon. I saw his other arm jerk forward and I felt it slam into my chest. I fell backwards off of the chair and hit the counter hard. But before I could react enough to reach for my pink knife or even the panic button, I felt the cold unforgiving metal beneath his glove as his hand pinned me to the counter by my collarbone. He was breathing heavier and his eyes had darkened violently. He was not the same man who I had just been speaking to.

"Bucky," I said softly as I tried to pry his fingers from my collarbone. They were pinching into my skin and it was hard for me to not act in my own defense. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm not your enemy. I'm just a girl. I'm a civilian." I knew that since HYDRA was involved, the word "civilian" probably didn't mean anything to him. He got his target regardless of who was in the way. But he released me anyway. I slumped against the floor and rubbed my fingers over my aching bone.

"You're just like him," he said quietly as he stepped back toward the droplets of blood on the floor. The hoodie was still hanging from his shoulder and the needle was hanging by the thread attached to his skin. He held his bandaged wrist against his chest. "He wouldn't have wanted me to hurt anyone either." Then he disappeared into the hallway.

"Bucky, wait," I said as I moved to get back on my feet. But it was too late. He was already gone. So I fell back against the counter and hit my head against the wood. I closed my eyes. What was it Romanoff called him? A ghost.

* * *

BUCKY!

Also, thanks random guest who continues to request more chapters. I shall oblige, nameless person.

*Edited*


	10. Chapter 10

The ringing of my telephone broke me out of my daze. I was still sitting on the floor rubbing my collarbone and considering cleaning up the blood trail he'd left on my floor. It was late and I wasn't expecting anyone to call. But I stood up and went to where my cellphone had been left on the kitchen counter. I'd set it down to make Steve's tea and never picked it up again. My sister's name flashed across the screen so I pressed accept and brought it to my ear.

"Hello?" I asked, clearing my throat.

"Is he still there? Short answers. No details," I heard Tony respond.

"No."

"Did he hurt you?" I hesitated.

"No."

"Do you think he'll be back tonight?"

"No."

"Do you need my help?"

"No."

"Alright… Let me know if you need me."

"I will."

"Goodnight. Keep safe."

"You too."

I hung up the phone and sat it back on the counter. Then I went to get a towel from the dryer in the alcove off of the kitchen. I came back and pulled a bucket out from under the sink, as well as the bleach. I poured a small amount into the bucket and stuck it under the faucet to fill with water. Then I sat down on the floor and tried to wipe away the blood. It left behind a smear of vibrant red. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

"One, two, three, four," I whispered.

Then I stood back up to get the bucket. Blood had never bothered me as a kid. Blood didn't bother me when I was stitching Barnes' arm. But now that it was all over my floor I felt a heaviness in my stomach and prayed I could get rid of that sticky sweet metallic scent that was heavy on the air.

It was all in my head, I reminded myself. I couldn't smell the blood. I took another deep breath and counted all of the things I could smell. The bleach from the bucket, the scent of my shampoo, antiseptic cleansing wipes. No blood. I opened my eyes again and shut off the sink. Then I sat down on the floor beside the smear of blood.

"One, two, three, four," I counted, and then I washed it away.

I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes I saw blood and my fingers digging through flesh, feeling for arteries. Even though I hardly knew Steve my house felt warmer when he was there. So I paced back and forth in my bedroom as those shadows stood still on my walls. It was a windless night, but my old house still creaked and groaned. Every sound made my heart jump in my throat. Romanoff had called him a ghost, and my room was full of shadows.

I was too lost in my own thoughts to hear the motorcycle engine, so I jumped when I heard the front door close downstairs. But then I remembered that Barnes hadn't made a sound at all. So it had to be Steve letting me know he was there. I heard him as he quickly checked my house. He always checked. Even when he promised he was supposed to appear comfortable and relaxed. It was in his nature to check and Barnes would have been surprised if he hadn't. Then I heard his feet on the stairs and I resumed my pacing. I didn't want him to see me standing there clutching my cardigan by the window like a timid deer.

"Hey, I thought you'd be asleep by now," he said when he opened the door and stepped into the room. He was casual and I wondered if Stark had told him. He crossed the room, closer to where I was standing, and draped his light jacket on the chair I had set up beside the window. His shield came to rest beside it.

"I couldn't sleep," I told him as I passed the window. His eyes glanced around the room and then he focused on my clenched hands. I was breathing too quickly and his eyes met mine, but they were stern and focused.

"The kitchen smells like bleach," he whispered. Then Steve the "boyfriend" disappeared and I saw Steve the First Avenger. He moved his hand out and pulled my hand away from my cardigan to reveal my shoulders. The scars on one side and the marks Barnes' metal hand had left on the other. He looked up at me again.

"Why didn't you call me?" he asked.

"I thought Stark would have," I replied.

"Stark never tells me anything. Why does the kitchen smell like bleach?"

"He was injured. It was minor. At least what he allowed me to see was minor. I had to reset a broken wrist and managed to stitch most of another wound before he panicked and left." I took a deep breath. "I don't think he was ready to see you yet," I told him. "He seems… afraid."

"Of what?"

"He seems to be under the impression that you're still his mission. And his tendency to overreact is… strong."

"He hurt you."

"I've had worse."

His eyes flicked to my other shoulder where the scars from my bullet wound were still thick and visible. He stepped away from me so I pulled the cardigan back over my shoulders and moved toward the small bed so that I could pull the sheets back. I hated to admit that I felt safer with Steve in the house. It was natural to be scared of Barnes. If it had been any other kind of intruder I wouldn't have been so afraid. But most intruders weren't trained killers with super-human strength. If I couldn't have anything more powerful than my voice and my sparkly pink knife, at least I had another person with super-human strength. Steve followed me and reached for the decorative pillow I had just picked up.

"You should have told me," he whispered. "Regardless of what Stark did or said." I turned around to face him so that we were only an inch apart in the darkness.

"Steve," I said, just as quietly but with a more stern tone. "I don't think he wants to speak to you just yet. Just let me handle it. He didn't mean to hurt me. He's obviously still got some bugs that need fixing. This won't happen overnight."

"And you think you're the one to do it?"

"I think I'm the one he chose. And he must have chosen me for a reason. He still wants to kill you but he knows that he shouldn't. He's starting to piece things together. He came to me because he wants to know who he is. He approached me first because I appear as everything you wanted me to be. I'm 'gentle.' I'm safe. Let me handle it. Let it go until he's ready to reach out to you. Do you understand?" He was breathing heavily through his nose. His lips were pinched shut but he kept his blue eyes on mine. Then he nodded once.

"Just promise me that I can trust you. He's all I have left, Jo." I had a feeling he wasn't referring to the possibility of me harming Barnes. I had a feeling this had something to do with his distrust of SHIELD.

"You chose me for a reason too. I can handle it. I won't let anything bad happen to him. Not if I can help it."

"If he gets violent with you again… I want you to press the panic button. I'll be here in half a second."

"I know." I turned back toward the bed and climbed in.

* * *

More good guy Steve! *Does ragtime dance. Jazz hands.*


	11. Chapter 11

I knew that I had scared Barnes off or maybe he scared himself. There was a possibility that he wouldn't show himself to me again. Or to Steve. So we decided that if a full month had gone by without his return, we would go with a false breakup plan and I would then have to figure out how to pay my mortgage.

Romanoff said to treat the mission like a vacation, but that wasn't an easy thing to do. I hated waitressing more than I hated studying medical terms. But I had to keep up with the charade that I was just a simple waitress named Jo with a simple little house and a simple little life, who just happened to spend the night with Captain America a couple times a week.

A few days after Barnes' visit, Steve left early in the morning and told me he wouldn't be able to come back. He was heading out of town. My nerves about Barnes coming back had waned. So I didn't react the same way when I walked into the living room and found him standing by my couch. I just stopped short in my tracks and made my sneakers squeak against the floor.

"You came back," I said.

"Yes," he replied simply.

"Can I check your arm?"

"Yes."

I motioned for him to sit down on the couch and he sat with his spine ramrod straight. I took the seat beside him and pulled the zipper down until I revealed the wound that I had tried to stitch. It was swollen and puffy now, but healing. I had stitched enough of it so that it would heal properly, but it would leave a scar. He had removed the thread and needle with something sharp and blunt. A longer piece was still hanging from the last stitch and loose at the end.

"It looks okay," I told him. "It would be better if I could have finished it, but it doesn't look infected. You'll have to come back in a few days so I can take the stitches out." Then I pulled his arm all the way out of the sweater to assess the broken wrist. The bandage was already dirty and frayed. I pulled it off and looked at his swollen wrist.

"You should have removed the bandage when it started to swell," I told him. "Or at least let it breathe. I would have had enough time to tell you that if you weren't in such a hurry to leave last time."

"I didn't know."

"Well lucky for you I got you something." I stood up and went to the kitchen to get the bag I'd stuck in my first-aid kit. When I came back he was still sitting on the couch, watching me cautiously. I sat down beside him and opened the grocery bag. "I had a wrist brace for carpel tunnel but my wrists are smaller than yours. So I got you a new one." I ripped the tag off of the brace and pulled his arm onto my lap. Then I wrapped it around his hand and secured it. "If it starts to swell up again I'd advise you to give it some breathing room. Or you can come back here and I can help you put some ice on it." I let him go and he pulled his arm back through the sweater sleeve.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

I sat up and looked over his face now that I could. He was still wearing the baseball cap and his brown hair was secured at the back of his head by a cheap rubber band, like the kind you peel off newspapers. The room was lit enough for me to see his face though, and I could make out more of his features. He had almost a full beard and he seemed tired and dirty. He kept his eyes away from mine. My guess was that he didn't like eye contact.

"You're welcome, Bucky," I replied. "Now will you tell me what happened?" I knew it was a risk asking him again since that was the conversation that set him off before, but I also knew it was important for me to make sure no one had been killed.

"I don't even know your name."

"Jo. My name is Johanna. Jo for short. Now will you tell me what happened to you, Bucky?"

"It was him. Captain America. He broke my arm."

"I figured. Since it happened around the same time. What about the cut?"

"I didn't kill them," he said. "I didn't mean to hurt them. But I didn't kill them."

"Well, that's good then. That's progress, right?" He turned his dark gaze on me.

"Progress towards what?"

"Do you want to kill people, Bucky?" I decided it was best to keep using his nickname. Maybe it would spark some memories. Maybe it would just help him differentiate between James Barnes and The Winter Soldier.

"I don't know." I sighed heavily.

"What do you remember? Do you remember anything from… before HYDRA?"

"Sometimes. Falling. Snow. Faces. Voices." I nodded slowly.

"Steve told me that you fell from a train."

"I remember the train."

"Do you remember anything else? Anything concrete?"

"I remember lying in the snow. Screaming. Alone." He said it darkly and flatly and without emotion. I didn't know how to respond. I wanted to put my hand on his shoulder and comfort him, but he didn't seem to like physical contact.

"If you remember that… then you'll probably remember more. You just have to give it time," I reassured him.

"He said that we were friends. I saw… at the museum. I saw my name and my face."

"Yeah, he called you his brother. Not by blood but by everything else. You were all each other had. And you're still… all each other has."

"He has you." I was startled for a moment, having almost forgotten that part. Then I gave a quick nod.

"Yeah, he has me… sometimes. But it's not the same. I'm not his family. I don't have any connection to that part of his life. He doesn't love me like he loves you." His eyes glanced at mine again.

"Maybe he's afraid of you," he offered.

"I don't think there's any reason for anyone to be afraid of me."

"Are you afraid of me?"

"No," I admitted.

"I'm a monster. You should be."

"You're not a monster."

His metal arm reached for me again. I froze, but the hand just gently brushed the cardigan off my shoulder, revealing the black and purple bruises he'd left on my skin.

"I hurt you," he observed.

"You didn't mean it," I replied.

"Yes, I did."

"You're hardly the first person to put bruises on my skin."

"I know," he said as he looked into my eyes again. His were dark, and sometimes I would see him slide out of focus and his eyes appeared almost empty, but they were focused now. "I can see it," he said.

I reached up to lift his metal hand from my shoulder. He jerked away but I wrapped my fingers around his and pulled his gloved hand onto my lap, where I enveloped his hand in both of mine. I figured he probably couldn't feel me. But he could see me, and that was what was important to me.

"Did I hurt you again?" he asked.

"No," I replied. "You just underestimate the strength of your arm. You'll get used to it. And you won't hurt me again, right?"

"I meant to hurt you. I wanted to hurt you."

"But you didn't want to kill me. You could have."

"I wasn't told to kill you. I had no reason to do so."

"But you were told to kill Steve and you didn't." His grip on my hands tightened painfully. I winced but didn't let go. "Why didn't you kill him?"

"I failed."

"You didn't fail. You did the right thing. That's called free will. Not killing either of us was free will. That's progress, Bucky."

"You know what they did… what they made me. A monster." I pulled one of my hands free from his tight grip.

"Can I touch your face again?"

He nodded so I reached out and held his cheek against the palm of my hand. Gentleness is what he needed and I doubted he had been this close to another person, who wasn't hurting him, in a long time. They had been right about him needing gentleness. He couldn't have talked to Steve because he would either have tried to complete his mission or the information would have overwhelmed him. He would have lashed out. He needed warmth. He needed Jo, and I didn't want to think of what was going to happen when he found out Jo wasn't really this warm and soft. Jo was broken too. But maybe he already knew that. Maybe that's why he came to me.

"You're not a monster," I told him as I made him look at me. He searched my eyes with that confused and maybe even pained expression. "What happened to you, what they did to you," I felt his grip on my hand tighten even more and I took a deep breath before continuing, "That was wrong. And right now, you don't really know the difference between right and wrong. But your memories will start to make sense. And they'll start to come back. You can be Bucky again."

"Who has the right to say what's right and wrong?" he asked me. "What if I'm not Bucky?"

"Then you learn how to be the man you want to be. Whether it's Bucky or someone else. You'll learn how to live again. You'll learn how to tell the difference and control your arm. You'll learn how to sort through everything they put in your head."

"How do you know that?" I sighed heavily and put my hand back down, locking it around his metal one.

"Because I had to do that too. Not exactly the same as you. No one forced my memories from me. No one put anything in my head. But…" I reached up and pulled down the cardigan to reveal the scars on my left side. His right hand moved and cupped my shoulder, his thumb traced over the damaged skin. Call me crazy, but it was nice to be touched. "I didn't go through what you went through. But I know what it's like to wake up and not know who you are and wonder if your memories really belong to you. I know what it's like to detach from yourself. And… things will never be exactly as they were. And maybe you'll never live a full life. But you'll live. And that's what's important. Do you want to live, Bucky?" He looked directly into my eyes again.

"Yes," he said.

"Then it's progress."

He removed his hand from mine and returned it to his own lap. I saw him flexing his fingers gain, testing them or suppressing something. But he didn't appear hostile so I kept my distance and waited for him to speak.

"I have to go," he finally said.

"You can stay here," I told him. "I have an extra room and you can shower."

"I can't." He stood up and walked toward the hallway. I hurried after him.

"Promise me that you'll come back?" I asked. He paused by the kitchen archway and turned around to face me, but his eyes were searching the walls again.

"I'll come back when the stitches heal. I don't know how to remove them," he said. I nodded.

"I can work with that."

"I have to go." He turned and opened the back door as if he already knew my house front to back. Truth was that he probably did. He disappeared into the yard and left the screen open. I followed him but the yard was dark when I reached it and the neighbor's porch light wasn't on. So I shut the door and didn't bother to lock it.

* * *

And that's the reason why I kept coming back to this title. But I'm actually glad I stuck with this title in the end, because if this sequel plays out then it will work perfectly with the title for that one. And so I no longer have any regrets. Sometimes things happen for reasons, I suppose.

Back to forever crying over Bucky Barnes.

*Edited*


	12. Chapter 12

Bucky returned to my house a few days later just like he promised. He had left quickly the last time he had been there but luckily he followed through on his promise. This time I walked into the kitchen after Steve had left so that I could use the washer in the alcove. I found him sitting at the kitchen table. He had already removed his hoodie and was picking at the healing stitches on his arm. The brace was still on his wrist. His long legs were stretched out over the floor, almost relaxed and comfortable, yet ready to spring into action if he needed to. His hair was still stuffed under the cap but it was messy and his face was dirty.

"Jesus, you scared me," I said, startled. He looked up at me.

"Sorry," he replied.

"How long have you been here?"

"Long enough to hear him kiss you." Then he turned back to his stitches. "I think they're infected."

"Let me see it." I pulled the other chair up and scooted it closer to him. Then I took his arm in my hands as I examined the stitching. "They're not infected. Just dirty. When was the last time you took a shower?" I looked up at him but he didn't say anything. "That explains a lot," I said as I turned back to the stitches. "I'll go ahead and cut them out and then you can take a shower. I have some salve I can use that will keep the dirt and infection out. When was the last time you ate?" He didn't answer again so I blew out heavily from my mouth. "I'll make you something to eat while you shower? How does that sound?"

He still didn't respond but it looked to me like he hadn't been offered either of these privileges in a long time. I decided HYDRA probably only gave him these things out of necessity. People had to eat to survive, right? From what Steve told me, they didn't even seem to view Bucky as human. I went to the drawer to get out my first aid kit. I located the scissors and my tweezers and sat back down beside him.

"They might pull a bit, but it won't hurt too bad, okay?" I told him. He nodded and looked down at me as I began to remove the stitches from his arm. Within a few minutes they were all out and I ran my finger over the scarring, scabbed skin. "I think this will heal nicely. It will leave a scar but it won't be too bad. How did it happen, if I can ask? You never actually told me." I looked up at him and he seemed to have grown more comfortable with eye contact. He was already watching me. Though with narrowed eyes.

"They cornered me in an alley and told me to give them money. I didn't have any. They had a knife," he explained.

"But you didn't kill them?"

"I wanted to kill them. But I didn't." I gave him a smile.

"You didn't hurt them too bad, did you?" He seemed to study my smile for a moment before answering.

"They'll live to rob someone else."

"Good. How's your wrist?"

"Better."

"Any swelling or bruising?"

"No."

"I want you to keep wearing the brace for at least the rest of the month. I know you heal faster but since I couldn't get you in for x-rays I want to be one hundred percent sure it's healing properly."

"Okay."

"Alright, follow me and I'll show you the shower."

I stood up and he followed after me quietly. I didn't look back until I reached the upstairs hall closet. I wanted him to see that I felt safe with him. I couldn't hear him at all and part of me wondered if he'd run off when I turned my back on him. But when I reached the closet and turned to face him he was still there looking over my house. I pulled a towel and a few other things out of the closet and opened the bathroom door to let him in.

"I'll find you some clothes while you're busy," I told him. "They'll have to do until I can get these washed for you. And I have a spare bedroom… in case you need a place to sleep." I glanced at him but he didn't answer. "So this is the shower," I said, standing beside it. "That way is hot. That way is cold. Soap over there." I pointed and then draped the washrag over the spout. "Washrag. That's shampoo and conditioner stuff right there. Here's a new toothbrush. I buy them I bulk. And I have a comb somewhere."

I sat the toothbrush down on the edge of the tub and reached into a drawer under the sink to find a spare comb. I stuck it on the counter and returned my eyes to him. I offered him another warm smile.

"You probably need to shave too. If you want to. Steve left his razor in the downstairs bathroom if you want to use it. I'm sure he won't mind. I'll go find you some clothes and leave them on the counter for you. Then I'll be downstairs if you need me. Also, take the brace off while you're showering. But be careful with your wrist."

I turned to leave the bathroom and I could see him watch me go. He spoke when I reached the hallway and turned to close the door.

"Thank you," he said quietly. He had said it to me once before but it had never felt genuine. The words seemed foreign on his lips. Like he wasn't used to speaking at all, let alone expressing gratitude. I was certain he didn't have a lot to be thankful for anymore. At least not recently. So I nodded.

"You're welcome, Bucky," I said. Then I shut the door to give him privacy.

* * *

Um... things to say? Nothing really. Bucky's gonna get nude. I saw the new X-Men movie today. That's about it.

*Edited*


	13. Chapter 13

I found Barnes a few of Steve's things he could wear. Steve left them there to allude to our false relationship but I didn't think he ever wore them. I knew Bucky was shorter than him, but I also figured anything was better than what he currently had. So I folded them neatly and carried them back down to the hall to the bathroom. I could hear the shower running so I knocked gently.

"Bucky? Are you covered? I'm going to get your clothes and leave clean ones, okay?" I asked loudly.

"Okay," his voice responded from inside.

So I popped the door open and made a quick check to be sure he was behind the floral print shower curtain. His clothes were lying in a pile on the floor so I put Steve's clean clothes on the counter and gathered his dirty ones. The second I stood to leave the shower curtain ripped open and I shouted, "Oh!" before quickly turning to face the wall.

"I wasn't sure about washing my arm," he said from behind me.

"The stitches or the metal?"

"Metal."

"Um… okay… How did they clean it before?"

"I don't remember."

"Okay, well just… do your best and I will… try to help you dry it out when you're done. If there are any problems I know someone who could give us some advice. How does that sound?"

"Fine."

"Okay. And nudity, Bucky. That's not… you know… something we normally show off to one another. Unless asked."

"Right." The curtain closed and I ducked my head and left the bathroom. I was trying not to laugh. I didn't want him to take it offensively.

When I got back downstairs I threw his dirty clothes into the washer and started it up. Then I looked through the kitchen cupboards to find something to cook. Despite my mother's insistence that I was naturally maternal and would amount to nothing but caring for small children, I couldn't cook very well. My mother had always been very traditional and that's probably why I took her prediction about my life so offensively.

Clara and I were what was considered "miracle babies." More specifically me. Our parents hadn't met until they were passed 30 and then they had trouble conceiving. Clara was the "miracle baby." I was the "where in the hell did this one come from" baby. Being that our parents were so much older than most kid's parents, they also had a different set of values. Our mom had always stayed a home, didn't drive, and spent the entirety of her day in the kitchen.

I never wanted to be like my mother. I loved her dearly but her telling me that I would amount to nothing but staying home all day popping out kids and baking cookies made me feel incompetent and worthless. My mother enjoyed her lifestyle. It was what brought her happiness. And I respected that. But that wasn't the life I ever wanted for myself. My mother had done 100% of the cooking when we were growing up and Clara and I never really learned. Not that our mother didn't insist that we wouldn't survive without learning basic cooking skills. Just that we avoided her lessons like the plague.

It wasn't that I was completely incompetent in the kitchen though. I mean, I could open packages and I could boil water. I could follow recipe instructions if I really wanted to. I knew how to make spaghetti and scrambled eggs and waffles and things like that. But I only ever had to cook for one person. And when Steve was over we usually just ordered take out. The rest of the week I usually just ate frozen dinners or made myself a sandwich. So I decided that Bucky probably hadn't had pizza in a long time and that was the most delicious thing that didn't require me cooking.

So I ordered a pizza and sat down at the kitchen table to clean up the mess I'd left behind with his stitches. A few minutes later I heard the shower shut off and I waited patiently for him to come back downstairs. As usual I didn't hear him until he appeared in the shadowy hallway wearing Steve's clothes and holding my comb in pieces.

"I broke it," he said as he held it out on his metal hand.

"Oh my gosh," I said standing. I took the comb from him and threw it into the trashcan. "Do you want me to…" I motioned toward his wet matted hair and he gave me a quick nod.

"Please?"

"I'll go get a few things. Make yourself at home. I ordered a pizza." I left the room and went back upstairs to get my brush and a few other things. When I got back downstairs he was sitting in the same chair examining his metal arm, flexing his fingers and trying to stretch it.

"How does it look? Should I call my friend?" I asked him.

"I should be fine," he replied, as he put the wrist brace back on his other arm.

I went around to his back and looked at his tangled dark hair. It was long enough so that it brushed his shoulders but it was clear he hadn't washed it or combed it in a long time. It was a good thing I'd brought my leave-in conditioner. I began to spray down his mane when he flinched.

"You're not going to make me as pretty as you, are you?" he asked. I froze with the bottle still raised in the air. I was expecting the short answers, confusion, and detached stares. Even anger. But I didn't expect him to make flirty comments. I sat the bottle down and reached for the brush.

"Steve told me you were a bit of a flirt," I replied as I pressed the brush against his head and tried to comb out the mess. He held still and didn't show any indication of the pain he was probably feeling on my behalf.

"I don't remember," he finally said.

"Maybe it's just in your nature. Do you remember anything else besides falling from the train?"

"I remember one thing." He hesitated.

"What's that?" I prodded.

"A woman. I don't remember her name. Just that she was like you. Kind."

"What do you remember about her?"

"I remember driving. I told her I was going away. She said she'd wait for me." I brushed through the tangles and felt a heaviness on my heart. She probably had waited. She'd probably waited so long she forgot she was waiting. I sighed.

"I'm so sorry, Bucky," I said.

"You have no reason to be sorry for me," he replied.

"Do you remember anything else?"

"A few things. Some things are starting to make sense. The train. The Commandos."

"You remember the Commandos?"

"Sometimes."

"Do you think it's because you're free now? Do you think that's why you're beginning to remember?"

"I think I always started to remember after a while. And then they would…" He stopped and I kept brushing.

"Did it hurt?" I asked after a moment.

"Yes," he replied.

"Do you think all of your memories will come back eventually?"

"What about you? Did all of your memories come back?" I paused for just a second before running my fingers through his hair so I could secure it into another ponytail.

"Um," I finally stuttered. "My memories were never really lost. I don't think you can lose them. That's now how they work. They just… get shut off sometimes. Like putting them on a back burner to make more room for new information. But… I forgot my name sometimes. I couldn't remember what my family looked like. And sometimes my sister tells me stories about our childhood and I have no idea what she's talking about. I can see that it hurts her. And that's why I moved so far away from them. But the worst part isn't really the memories. It's the nightmares."

"I know." I secured the ponytail at the back of his head with an actual hair-tie and not something he'd snagged from a newspaper. I stepped away from him and gathered my things again. "I'm done. Let me get something on your cut and then I'll let you shave."

"Okay." I returned my hair supplies to the upstairs bathroom and then came back to apply ointment to his cut. He was waiting right where I'd left him, so I took a seat and gently applied the antibacterial salve. He watched me as I smoothed it over the newly pink scar and the scabs left behind from the stitches. And then I looked up at him and smiled.

"You can shave now if you want," I said as I motioned toward the bathroom. "You do know how to do that, right? I mean, your wrist isn't going to cause a problem?"

He stood slowly and still took time answering my question. He appeared a lot larger in Steve's brighter and cleaner clothes. Steve never wore shirts that fit but the shirt fit Bucky's body perfectly. His arms were bare for once so I could see the shape of his bicep on his real arm, and the incredible workmanship of the metal arm, which acted nearly as realistic as his own. Aside from his inability to judge his own strength. But I suppose that was the purpose of it. To destroy and cause pain.

He was taller than I thought he was too. But I supposed that was the reason for all of the black. He could hide in it. He could disappear into the shadows easier. But now he wore a blue t-shirt and khaki pants and he appeared almost average and comfortable. With his hair pulled out of his face and cleaned, he no longer looked like he lived in an alley. I still wanted to see what he looked like without the beard though. It wasn't that I didn't like the beard. Just that I wanted to see more of Sergeant James Barnes from the file pictures I'd been given.

"I think I'll manage," he told me.

So I nodded and headed into the living room to wait for the pizza or for him to finish. The pizza came first. The doorbell rang and I went to get it. I brought it into the kitchen as Bucky was leaving the bathroom, clean shaven and a lot more handsome and youthful than I originally thought with the beard.

"Pizza," I said living the box to show him, since he seemed uncertain of the pizza delivery guy. I sat it down on the table and went to get plates and cups. Bucky sat down cautiously with his back against the wall. He examined the box but didn't speak. I sat the plates down on the table and looked down at him.

"I didn't know your eyes were blue," I said. They met mine and he gave me an expression of curiosity. As if he himself didn't realize his eyes were blue.

"Is flirting in your nature too?" he asked. His expression was stoic but I felt my face blush hot anyway. I looked away at my feet.

"I'm just stating a fact. You've been hiding your eyes since you first came here. It was hard to tell."

"Your eyes are always showing. But they're black." I focused on opening the pizza box.

"They're brown actually," I told him. "You just never see me in sunlight."

"I'd like to." I kept quiet as I put a slice of pizza on his plate. I slid it over to him without meeting his gaze.

"What would you like to drink?" I asked, but I regretted the question the second I asked it. He was probably only ever allowed water. Something necessary for survival. "How about soda? I think I still have some left in the fridge. Steve doesn't like it. He says it's not 'proper soda pop." I mocked his voice and the corner of Bucky's lip twitched into an almost smile.

I took that as my answer and went to pour us both a glass of soda. Then I set each glass down at the table and sat down across from him. He had his back to the wall. My usual seat. He hadn't picked up his pizza. Or his soda.

"Is everything okay?" I asked him as I examined that same curiously befuddled expression.

"Why are you being so kind to me?" he finally asked me.

"Why wouldn't I be kind to you?"

"I have a hard time trusting people who are kind to me."

For a moment I felt offended. Especially offended that he had waited so long to tell me he thought my kindness was threatening. Maybe I was overdoing the kindness. Maybe he didn't mean that he wanted to see what my eyes looked like in sunlight. But then I quickly realized it was probably because his captors had been kind to him on occasion. To make him think that he was safe with them, that what they were doing was good. And for a moment, a very brief one, I considered telling him who I really was. Even if only to gain his trust.

"I think that's a risk you're going to have to take, Bucky," I said, reaching for my soda. He held his glass in his right hand as he watched me behind those narrowed blue eyes again.

"I guess we'll just have to wait and see," he replied as he lifted the glass toward his lips. I lifted it up in a gesture of cheers.

"To kindness and distrust," I said. There was another almost smile, but he brought the soda to his lips and finally took a sip.

* * *

You could say he was... Buck naked. *Snickers uncontrollably for ten minutes*

I'm sorry. That was stupid.


	14. Chapter 14

After dinner Bucky helped me carry our plates to the sink. He stood up, balancing his plate and cup as he reached for mine. But then a plate slid from the grip of his metal hand and smashed against the floor. His eyes immediately cut to mine. I didn't understand the expression. It was almost as if he needed reassurance that he hadn't done anything wrong. Or maybe he was angry that he had dropped the plate at all.

"It's alright," I said as I reached for the broom inside the fridge. "I'll clean it up."

"I can do it," he said. He put the remaining dishes in the sink and then bent down to scoop up the larger ceramic shards. I got the dust pan and brought it around to the other side of him. He had his metal arm balancing on the floor. It was shaking but I didn't say anything about it. I helped him clear the pieces of my broken dish and then I guided him to the sink.

"I'll wash, you put them away?" I suggested.

"Okay," he replied with his usual one liner.

He stood at my side as I washed the few dishes that were left. Then I dried them and handed them over. I showed him where they went and he slid them into the cupboard with his right hand instead of his left. That one he kept at his side, bending his elbow and flexing his fist.

We were on the last cup when I heard Steve's motorcycle rumble down the street. I saw his shoulders tense and he looked down at me. His eyes darkened again. His jaw was tight. His hair had dried and dark tendrils had fallen into his face. He looked almost exactly like the man in the file pictures now. But older. And not in a sense that he had aged a lot in the last 70 years. Just that you could see the weariness in his eyes. If only I could get him to remember how to smile.

"Stay," I said softly. I saw him clench his jaw but he slowly put the last cup back into the cupboard.

"What will you do if I hurt him?" he asked.

"I won't let you," I replied. He knew I couldn't physically stop him from doing anything, but I hoped he understood I was offering emotional support rather than resistance. He stared down at me until the engine stopped. "Let me talk to him first," I suggested. "Just promise me that you won't leave."

He didn't say anything but I patted his arm and walked out to the living room so I could greet Steve at the door. I wanted to prepare him, and give them both a minute to adjust before seeing each other again. I heard the lock click and the front door opened. He stepped into the room and looked up at me.

"You didn't have to wait up for me," he said. He always said that, even if it was only nine o' clock at night. But then he glanced at my twisted fingers and concerned expression. His eyes met mine and I nodded once.

"He's in the kitchen," I whispered. He shut the door and I saw him stand ridged. "I convinced him to stay long enough to shower and eat. I let him borrow some of your clothes and I let him use your razor. I didn't think you would mind. Just… be gentle. And… be careful. He's still afraid that he's going to kill you." He kept his eyes on mine but his entire body was anxious. If I didn't know any better I would say he wasn't even breathing.

So I reached out and took his hand and pulled him gently toward the hallway. He responded and followed after me, but I couldn't hear him breathing. However, when we reached the kitchen I found it empty. The window above the sink was open, even though I hadn't heard it. That meant he left in a hurry. He probably panicked. I sighed heavily and dropped my hands to the side.

"I guess he wasn't ready," I said. Steve seemed to relax.

"I don't know if he'll ever be ready," he told me. I turned around to face him.

"Well, there's leftover pizza. If you want some. I'm just going to get his clothes in the dryer and then I'm going to bed." He nodded slowly and watched as I went to the alcove and furiously stuffed the laundry into the dryer.

"I thought you didn't do laundry," he said. I turned the machine on and passed him.

"It's different," I decided. I climbed the stairs to my room and then stood at the window for a long time, just staring into my dark backyard.

I knew it was crazy. I hardly knew him and he didn't even know himself. But I wanted him to stick around. I wanted him to talk to Steve and be that Bucky that Steve always talked about. The one with the easy smile and sarcastic nature. The man who was always the brother and friend that Steve needed. The man with the flirtatious attitude and bounce I his step.

That was the moment I finally figured out why everyone always made recovery out to be so easy. Why they said I wouldn't be normal again or why they made it seem like it was a very real possibility. Because they wanted to believe it themselves. I wanted Bucky to get better. But I wasn't sure if that was a real desire or if I just wanted to prove that if someone like him could do it, maybe I could too. But I knew enough about trauma to know that even if he did get his memories back, he would never be the same. And neither would I.

* * *

Sorry for the short chapter after not updating yesterday. I had every intention of doing so but then I watched a really crappy quality version of Cap 2 and I realized I made a mistake. It's not a huge mistake. Like you don't have to read previous chapters. But I forgot Steve broke Bucky's arm. So I had to go back and add that. There's a few chapters now where Jo mentions Bucky's arm is broken. When she's examining the gash he showed up with she sees his wrist and resets it for him before she stitches up the cut. Also in the scene where Bucky comes back and they talk on the couch, she examines his wrist and gives him a wrist brace. That's about it for edits, aside from the occasional mention. So no previous reading is required if you don't want to. Just know that from this point on she will mention that his arm was broken.

Also, there's a reason he dropped the plate. And he wasn't scared of her scolding him. I had my "beta" read that part and he thought Bucky was afraid of being reprimanded. He wasn't. It'll be explained later.


	15. Chapter 15

I knew I was in a nightmare the moment I saw him. When I stood there amongst the rubble and broken bodies. When all I could hear was the screaming and that fading ringing. I could feel the heat of fire and the prickles of burns across my cheek. And for a brief moment I forgot that it wasn't real.

Until the smoke parted and the screaming stopped and all I could see was the man with the dark, emotionless eyes, and arm made of exposed metal. He walked with measured steps as if he knew exactly where to go and what to do. I was his mission.

Steve told me everything he could about what happened in the skies over DC. About how Bucky had been instructed to kill Steve. I believed with everything I had that this was the mission that caused The Winter Soldier's unraveling. But I could see it very clearly in his face as he walked toward me. This was not the man who had eaten pizza in my kitchen. Or the man who'd expressed his fears and confusion on my living room couch. This was The Winter Soldier, killer, ghost.

He stopped just before me and lifted a long barreled sniper rifle. He could have shot me from afar and he would have been done with his mission. But he wanted me to see him before he pulled the trigger. He wanted me to know, or maybe they did, that his mission was always going to be more important than me.

Maybe it was a test to me. He wanted me to pull my own trigger. I had my gun held against my chest, ready to be used. But I couldn't bring myself to do it. It didn't matter if my life was in danger or if he was a perfect stranger. I couldn't kill him. But I knew my life wasn't in any danger because I knew I was dreaming. And he wasn't a stranger. He was Bucky. I didn't know him well enough, but I knew that his mind was fragmented and I could see his desire to be that man again. To be everything other than the man they had made him.

But the man in front of me intended to be that creation. His eyes were as cold as ice and that mouth that had been born to smile was set in a firm straight line. He wanted me to shoot, or to shoot me. I couldn't decide, but I stood straight and looked into his face.

"I won't shoot you," I said.

Then he snarled and lifted the gun so the barrel pointed at the scar on my shoulder. He pulled the trigger and I jumped up in a shout. My shoulder rocked with pain and I rubbed my hand over the skin. I counted my breaths. One, two, three, four.

I was in my bed at home. My room was dark, but my bed was empty. Steve had gone to bed with me. I hissed and rubbed the pain from my shoulder and then I stood to my feet. My house was quiet and the hallway was dark, so I stepped out and called his name.

"Steve?"

There was no response. Steve hardly slept so even if he was on the couch he would have heard me. And I was certain my shout was loud enough to wake him up.

I crept to the staircase and looked down in to the abyss of darkness that was my living room. There was a nervous twinge in my stomach. Steve had come back last night, hadn't he? Did I dream that too? Did I dream all of it? Was I losing my mind again?

I headed down the stairs and flicked on the light at the bottom of the staircase. A lamp in the corner of the room was illuminated but the living room was empty. It didn't appear as if anyone had slept on the couch. The quilt was still neatly folded over the back where I had left it. So I turned down the hall and finally spotted him. The back door was open but the screen was closed and I could see the silhouette of his body against my neighbor's porch light.

I stepped toward him and opened the screen. Then I took a seat beside him and crossed my arms to fight off the chill. It wasn't a cold night, but I was always cold and my skin prickled against the temperature.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked.

"Nightmares," I replied. "What about you? Doesn't look like you even tried."

"Something tripped the neighbor's porch light. I know it was probably a cat or Rocket. But… I came out here anyway. Sometimes I come out here when you're asleep. Maybe I'm just hoping he's listening."

"Do you think you'll ever get him back?" He took a moment to answer as he breathed out slowly and evenly and looked out over my small yard. Then he moved his arm and wrapped it around me so that I could steal his warmth. I rested my head on his shoulder and felt my body relax.

"No," he finally said slowly. "But I think you will."

"Does it bother you that he came to me first?"

"No, I just want him to be safe. And I think you're the right person for the job."

"You finally trust me," I whispered.

"Yeah, I do."

"Thank you for being here, Steve. I know that… I'm not the person you want to be here with. But thank you anyway." He turned and planted a kiss on the side of my head. It didn't feel like a false relationship kiss. It felt like it was meant for me, but there was no romance or attraction. I didn't know how to explain it, but it felt nice.


	16. Chapter 16

I was hoping that Bucky would come back soon, but after that night I didn't see him again for a while. Every time Steve left I walked back into my house feeling disappointed when there was no one waiting in the shadows. Every time someone tripped the sensor in my neighbor's yard I went to the window in the hopes that it was him. It never was.

Steve rarely slept in my bed anymore. I already knew it made him uncomfortable having to share a bed with someone he didn't have feelings for. But after that night he would doze for an hour or so and then I would always wake up in the middle of the night to find him sitting on the back porch waiting for the shadows to move. Sometimes I joined him. Sometimes I brought him the quilt from the couch. Most of the time I left him alone to his thoughts.

A week later I woke up from instinct, rather than nightmares and I heard the soft murmur of his voice from outside. I wondered if he was on the phone, so I went downstairs to check on him. This time he wasn't sitting on the back porch. I approached the screen door and looked out at the yard. Steve was standing in the middle of the overgrown grass. Bucky was standing before him in his black clothes again. I'd forgotten them in the dryer. I guess he returned for them and I didn't notice.

I stood against the wall and closed my eyes. I was glad that Bucky had finally come back. I was even happier that he had finally decided to speak to Steve. However, their voices were tense and their body language suggested each of them was ready to bolt or fight if the other made the move. Neither of them did, but they hardly looked comfortable.

I could barely make out what they were saying. They were speaking in low voices and only a few words ever reached me. But it was clear to me that Steve wanted him to be Bucky and he in his own words didn't think he ever would be.

I knew it wasn't my place to get involved in their discussion. They needed to talk and they needed to be alone, but this was one subject I couldn't let go. Steve was Steve and despite everything that he had gone through he would continue to be Steve. I knew what it was like to wake up and not belong to your name anymore. I knew what it was like to view the person you had once been and feel detached from them. So I pushed open the screen and stepped out onto the grass. Both men turned to watch me as I approached.

"I'm sorry for eaves dropping," I started. "I know it's wrong and I know your business is between the two of you. But I couldn't stop myself from interrupting." I looked up at Bucky. He still had the ponytail in his hair, but the cap was gone. Even though his hair was messy and dirty it looked like he had at least tried to brush through it with his fingers recently. His facial hair was coming back in and left a dark shadow on his face.

"Look," I said. "I know that you feel… disconnected. From your past and from the whole world. And I know that you want him back, Steve. But Bucky is gone. That Bucky is. Just like that Steve is gone too. And you may still be Steve, but you're not the same boy from Brooklyn with asthma and a big heart, okay? But that's the whole point of living. We change. And Bucky… if you want to be Bucky, that's great. You're at a crossroads now. And you can be whoever you want to be. Whether it's Bucky or The Winter Soldier, or someone entirely new. That choice is yours. But no matter what, those names will still always belong to you and they'll always be a part of you. And you still have to choose how you want to live your life from this point on. You're free now. And you can be whoever you want to be."

He looked away across the yard and Steve kept his eyes on his friend. I didn't want him to think that he had to be Bucky if that's not who he was anymore. I knew when I came back that I hadn't wanted to be Johanna anymore. Not the girl I'd been before I had left. I couldn't be her though, even if I wanted to be, and coming to that realization was an important part of my recovery. Even if I didn't feel like I had a grasp on it yet.

"Bucky has people who love him," I continued when neither of them spoke. I pulled my cardigan around my arms to keep the chill out, but I kept my eyes on him. "His life is shattered but he doesn't have to be alone if he doesn't want to be. And if you decide you don't want to be Bucky… you don't have to be him either. You can make your own choices and be your own person. You can try to forget the past if that's what you want. But I know from experience that it never really goes away. You can fight it and you can move away and pretend to be something you're not. But Bucky will always exist in you and so will The Winter Soldier. And so will Steve and… and me if you let me." There was a moment of silence as he looked at the grass and then back at me.

"They're going to come back for me," he said. "Whatever's left of them. They're not going to let me go so easy. And if they don't get to me first… someone else will. There's no living in this world. Not the way that you live." I sighed.

"You're right. But you have a family. And Steve will do whatever he can to protect you. Even if you think you don't need it. Steve and me and… my friends. If you want to start your life over as some average guy we can help. Whatever your choice is we can help you.

"How did you do it?" he asked me. "How did you decide who to be?" I took a deep breath and shuffled my feet.

"I chose to run away. I thought I was hurting the people who loved me. But I still miss them. And it wasn't until I was gone that I realized they were the only people who could help me. When I'm with the people that I love… I feel like I can be myself again. Even if it's not the same person I'd been before."

"What if that wasn't an option? What if being with the people you're told you love is not an option?"

I stood staring at him for a moment as I tried to figure out how to answer. The crickets were loud and the sky was hazy with light pollution. I wanted to ask him why it wasn't an option, but I didn't know what he meant. I didn't know if he meant Steve or HYDRA or whoever he had left behind in his past. I couldn't find an answer.

"I don't know," I finally admitted. "I guess you just have to do whatever you can to be the best person you can be. And be true to yourself."

He reached out and pressed the palm of his real hand against my cheek like I had done for him that night on my living room couch. His skin was warm against the chill in the air and I leaned into him. This man who had been a weapon, who had been broken and betrayed, I could see the warmth in his heart and more than anything I wanted him to be able to see it in himself. Whether he was Bucky or someone else.

"Then I have to go," he said quietly.

"Please don't leave? We can help you. This is your home." He gave me a conflicted and pained expression and stepped away. Then he turned and jumped over the fence that separated my neighbor's yard from mine. Their porch light came back on but I couldn't hear anything but the crickets and the wind. Steve came to my side but neither of us said anything until the light went back off and the yard returned to darkness.

"Do you think he'll be back?" I asked him.

"I don't know," he replied.

I turned and headed back toward the house. I made it all the way to my bedroom before I felt my chest get heavy and I couldn't fight it anymore. I sat down on my bed and faced the window. And then my eyes got hot and tears spilled out. I hated crying. I hated this job. I wanted my life to go back to normal. Not normal normal. Not nightmares and loneliness and going to work filing reports at a boring cubicle. I wanted to go home to Ohio to my bedroom with the pop-punk posters and my sister's irritating organization system. Where summers were warm and I could sleep without fear and people weren't suffering. Back when I didn't have to count to four to do normal tasks. Back when I didn't have to remind myself that everything was real and not dreamed.

I wanted to be Johanna from Ohio again.

I heard the floor creak and I knew that Steve had followed me back up the stairs. He probably knew I was crying too, but I wiped my tears away in the hopes that he didn't see them.

"I don't want this mission to be over, Steve," I told him. "I don't want to fail."

"I don't think we failed at all, Jo," he replied. "We did exactly what we were supposed to do. We made contact with him. And to be completely honest, it worked out far better than anyone expected. He's not himself and maybe you're right. Maybe he never will be. But he wants to be a good person. He left because he thinks it's best for all of us."

"How would that be good for any of us?"

"He thinks you're my girlfriend, Jo."

"So?" I turned around to face him. He was standing in my doorway leaning against the frame. His eyebrows rose and he gave me a look that said I was missing something very important.

"Isn't it obvious?" he asked. I shook my head.

"I'm just helping him. I just want to help it. It's not like that."

"Maybe not for you." I turned back around and ran my hands over my face.

"It can't be like that. We barely talk. He doesn't know anything about me."

"He doesn't have to. He just knows that you're the first person to show him any genuine kindness. And Bucky was always a flirt. Maybe that part of him still exists even if he doesn't know what it means. And I mean… I know his type and you're definitely it."

"If that's the case then we really messed up. That wasn't part of the plan."

"We didn't mess up. We'll stick with our plan. If he doesn't come back within a month we'll move on."

"I just don't want him to get hurt."

"Me either."

* * *

I was never really sure about this chapter. I don't know. I wanted to write more of Steve and Bucky's conversation but I couldn't get it out. :/ But my beta said it made him feel the things so I decided to just leave it.


	17. Chapter 17

The next morning Steve and I had coffee quietly in the kitchen. We hadn't spoken since the night before and my lack of nightmares kept us apart for the rest of the night. We woke up without a word. He showered before me and then went to the bathroom downstairs to shave while I took my turn. Coffee was already made when I was done. We served ourselves and I stood against the counter as he sat at the table with his back to the wall.

"I forgot to tell you I have something for you," he said as he pulled out his wallet. He took out a piece of paper and slid it across the table in my direction. I stepped forward and picked it up. Then I opened it and looked down at the check he had made out for me.

"I can't take this," I said setting it back down on the table.

"Why not? I agreed to make up the difference."

"I don't want it."

"How are you going to pay your mortgage?"

"I'll manage." I turned around and went to dump the rest of my coffee in the sink.

"Why?" he asked me. I reached for my phone from the counter and slid it into my pocket.

"I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it for him."

Then I left without another word and drove to work at the diner.

The morning was uneventful. The breakfast shift was my favorite to work because most of the customers were bleary eyed and tired and came for coffee and simple meals. They hardly ever complained and sat quietly enjoying their food. The only problems came from the occasional bright eyed child, but for the most part I had no problems with the breakfast crew.

It was lunch and dinner that I couldn't stand. Luckily I didn't have to work the dinner shift, but the lunch shift was second worst and second best. It wasn't as busy as the dinner shift but I was on the move constantly and it was the favorite time of day for those blasted milkshakes.

I was in the middle of refilling the ketchup bottles when Morgan/Megan alerted me to another guest visit.

"Your hot friend is back," she said. I looked up at her.

"Wilson?" I asked. She shrugged.

"You never told me his name. But he's back and he wants a milkshake." I sighed heavily and she smiled. "I'm just kidding. He just wants a Coke. You want to get it for him?"

"Yeah, sure. Bring some fries too. He likes them even though he never orders them." I stuck the ketchup back on the counter and twisted the lid.

"You ever gonna tell me his name. Or is it just Wilson?"

"Sam," I said. She nodded.

"He's cute."

"Mm-hmm."

I moved passed her and told my manager I was going to take my break. I returned the ketchup bottles to their original tables and then I went back for the soda. I filled the cup and headed out onto the dining floor to meet with Sam Wilson. He was sitting in the same far booth with his back to the wall and his arm stretched over the back of the seat. I sat the drink down and then took a seat in front of him.

"What's up?" I asked. He removed the straw wrapper and focused on that.

"Haven't talked to you in a while. Figured it was time," he replied.

"What's to talk about? Doesn't Steve tell you everything? Or is there more I need to know?" He stuck the straw in his drink and then looked up to meet my gaze.

"I didn't come here on behalf of Steve. I'm here for you. And to apologize." My eyebrows rose.

"Apologize for what?"

"For what I said the last time I was here. When I called Barnes a nutbag."

"I don't even remember." He took a sip of his drink and his eyes scanned the room.

"I deal with this stuff a lot. And I should have realized it when I met you. You were right about Barnes. Or at least I think you're right for wanting to help him. The both of you are. Being alone is the worst part and he's made progress because he's not alone. But you… you're still alone. And I want to change that."

"What do you mean?" He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a business card. Then he slid it onto the table between us. I reached out and lifted it.

"I'm a coach," he told me. "For soldiers. Soldiers like you." I nodded slowly.

"Did you read my files?" I asked him.

"Didn't have to. I can see it when I talk to you. Not to mention Steve might have mentioned a few things that tipped me off."

"I think I'm doing alright, considering. I had a therapist. Of course that was with SHIELD but…"

"That's not really what this is though. I'm not trying to preach therapy. I just want you to know that you're not alone. And there are people just like you. People who would love to meet you and talk to you. You don't have to talk about what you've been through but sometimes you just need that other person to know in order to make progress."

"How did you do it? How did you come home and… go back to normal? How did you help Captain America take down HYDRA?" He looked around to be sure no one was listening.

"I wish that I could say that I went back to normal but I'd be lying. And when I helped Steve, I felt alive again. I know that there's a darkness in you for what you've done and what you think you did. I know that you froze and couldn't pull the trigger and you got shot. But I also know that you didn't hesitate when someone else's life was in danger." I shook my head.

"Those kids wouldn't have died if I had just pulled the trigger." I felt my voice catch in my throat and I pinched my mouth shut to stop the emotion from bursting out of me. He was patient for a moment and then he shook his head, softer than I had.

"You know that's not true," he said. "You beat yourself up and you plant lies in your own head to feed your guilt. Those kids… I wish I could say that there was a magical solution or something that anyone could have done to save them. But there wasn't. They didn't die because one person froze. And the man who shot you… taking him out wouldn't have made a difference. You did what you had to do when it mattered most. You didn't pull a trigger but you put your own life at risk to save Colonel Talbot. You didn't shoot but you didn't hesitate when his life was in danger. The problem isn't that you freeze. The problem is that you put other people's lives before your own."

I turned my head away from him and wiped my eye, knowing that he was looking but hoping he wasn't going to remember it. Making more lies for myself because that's what he did. He coached people like me. People who couldn't get their lives back.

Luckily Morgan/Megan decided that was the perfect time to bring the fries I'd ordered for him. She came up to the table smiling and set them down between us.

"Is there anything else I can get you, hon?" she asked as she put a gentle hand on Sam's shoulder. He gave her a smile and shook his head.

"I'm alright. Thank you," he told her. She looked at me and even though she was still smiling there was a look of concern in her eyes.

"What about you?" she asked and I could see the question on her face. Not asking if there was anything I wanted to eat, asking if I was okay. I shook my head.

"No, I'm fine," I assured her.

"Let me know if you need anything."

"I will." She walked off and Sam waited for her to leave and it gave me just enough time to gather my composure.

"Look," he said as he reached for a French fry. "I know what it's like to come home and feel like piece of you is missing. A part of you will always be on the battlefield. No matter what happens and no matter how much you claim to have hated it. That's why I helped Steve when he came to me. It made me feel alive. That's why Steve continues to do what he does."

"I don't want to go back to that. I don't ever want to watch someone die again," I argued.

"Neither do I. And that's why I did it. To stop people from dying." I looked away. "And you can't pull a trigger. That's fine. Agent Barton doesn't use a gun." He munched on some fries as I thought about this. "Maybe your pink knife can be your arrows and quiver. Pink sparkle knife is your Project Falcon." I laughed and rubbed my eyes.

"I just want to be normal, Sam," I told him as I focused on him. He nodded slowly, watching me.

"That's fine too. But you do need to realize that that isn't the case for all of us. Some of us thrive on it. Me, Steve, Natasha. Maybe normalcy isn't what Barnes needs. Maybe the only way you can save him is to make him change sides."

"He doesn't need to ever take orders from anyone. He needs to know that he's free."

"You know how many orders we broke when we took down those helicarriers? You know how many orders Steve and his Avenger pals broke when they took down those aliens? Barnes doesn't need orders. But he was made to be a soldier. He was a soldier voluntarily, before HYDRA ever got ahold of him. If he wants to live his life in a warm little house eating pizza with a pretty girl, by all means. I encourage that. All I'm saying is that might not be enough to save him." I considered his words for a long moment as he ate some fries and I sat there with my hands in my lap.

"You're right," I finally told him. "Some of us just can't be domesticated. He needs Steve. More than me."

"That's not true either," he said reaching for another fry. "He needs you because he chose you. I know he's got a little thing for you." He smiled. "But that doesn't mean anything. Maybe you need each other."

"It doesn't feel right."

"Why not?"

"Because he's broken and I'm… damaged. And it would never work out."

"Who said anything about working out? I'm not saying you should be his girlfriend." He laughed again. "I'm just saying he feels safe with you and you want to help him. I know you turned down Steve's check. So clearly you're in it for something. Even if you think it's not a selfish reason. Maybe he helps you as much as you help him. Like I said, we don't like being alone." I nodded again.

"I just don't want… those kinds of feelings to get in the way of his progress."

"Maybe those feelings are fueling his progress." I sighed again. There was no arguing with the man. I lifted the card again and looked down at his number, deciding to end the conversation.

"So when do you have meetings?" I asked him.

"On the back," he replied, taking a sip of his soda.

"Maybe I'll swing by."

"I hope you do."

"I have to go back to work though. This is the only job I have now." He nodded again.

"I'll see you." I stood up and turned back around.

"Again, my tab."

"Not happening. But thanks for the offer." I smiled and stuck the business card in my apron pocket.

* * *

This is an extremely vital chapter. Because of reasons.


	18. Chapter 18

When a week had passed without a word from Bucky I almost couldn't find the motivation to keep with the plan. I wanted to quit my waitressing job and even considered taking Tony up on his offer to hire me in New York. I could sell my cruddy house and be gone with the mortgage. I could be closer to my sister. But I didn't want to abandon Bucky. I knew in my heart that he would come back, whether it was in a week or a year. I was going to see him again.

One day when I was working a late shift at the diner I decided to leave my house early anyway. Steve was busy and I hated that he was always busy. He was always jogging to keep his mind off of everything, or he was with Sam, or he was off on some secret unknown job that I wasn't allowed to know about.

Despite all of that I drove to the Smithsonian and paid the fee to get into the Captain America exhibit. I hadn't gone to see it since it first opened. I figured there was no reason for me to see the exhibit since I got to see him walk around my house all the time.

The exhibit didn't do anything to ease my tension. There were pictures of Bucky everywhere. And not the man I'd come to know, but the Bucky that Steve had known. I'd seen his face before I knew who he was. I hardly paid much attention to him then. But I looked up at pictures of him in his uniform. Pictures of him with the Howling Commandos. And videos of the two of them smiling and laughing, being the brothers that Steve claimed them to be.

Their friendship was obvious, even if you didn't already know you could see it. Steve never looked so comfortable with another person. Their smiles were unfamiliar to me and it was obvious that it was the kind of friendship that had grown with time. There was a history between them, a brotherhood. I was hoping it was the kind of friendship that could survive so much of the trauma they were going through 70 years later.

I sat there watching the videos for a long time. I had hoped it would make me feel better, but it just made me feel worse. I couldn't recognize his face. I knew those features because I had studied them when he was in my house. But he seemed so alive in the videos and pictures. Even when all he was doing was standing tall beside Steve, unsmiling. He still seemed so much more vibrant than the man who sat at my kitchen table staring emotionless into my darkened hallway.

I ended up leaving before going through the whole exhibit. I was planning on just going to the diner earlier than usual and just putting in overtime. But the thought of making milkshakes before I was supposed to turned me away. So instead I sat in my car in the Smithsonian parking lot and reached for my apron that was sitting in the passenger seat. I pulled the card out of my pocket and looked down at the dates and times of Sam's meetings. If I hurried, I could make the end of one.

So I started my car and drove to the Veterans Hospital. I already knew where it was because it's where I went for healthcare. The meeting was already mostly over when I arrived. I walked up the hall following the sound of his voice and then I stood at the open doorway and looked in. He was standing at a podium at the front of the room, just talking to a large group of people. Even though they were in civilian clothes I could see exactly what he had described. They were all like me.

His eyes looked up and he stopped speaking mid-sentence. Then he smiled and stood up to address the class.

"Hey, everyone. I'd like you to meet a friend of mine," he said gesturing to me. Heads turned toward me and I felt nervous with so many eyes on me. But I stepped into the room and hurried toward the podium anyway. "This is Officer Johanna Hayes of the US Special Forces. She's also a close friend of Captain Steve Rogers and she's done a lot for this country. Even if she doesn't think she has. How about we give her a round of applause." Everyone clapped and I stepped over to Sam.

"Sorry I'm late," I told him.

"It's alright. I'm glad you came." He gave me a pat on the back and I couldn't help but smile.

"I don't really wanna… talk… or make a speech or anything." He returned the smile.

"That's alright. You can just listen. We're almost done anyway."

"Okay. I'm going to take a seat."

"Alright, you do that." I stepped away from the podium and sat down on the first row so Sam could go back to his discussion.

Unfortunately it didn't last long before the meeting ended but when it did Sam stepped down from his podium and came over to me. Everyone was saying goodbye, there was a lot of hugging and smiling and laughing and Sam looked out over everyone like a mama duckling.

"Do they know about you stealing military equipment and nearly destroying DC?" I asked him.

"Not a clue," he said with a laugh and a shake of his head.

"But they know you're friends with Rogers?"

"I sort of black mailed him into making an appearance so I could impress the girl at the front desk."

"Nice. I wonder if I could get my tips by blackmailing him into coming in during one of my shifts." He laughed heartily. I really liked his laugh. He had the ability to make me feel calm and safe.

"Worth a shot. Some people pay extra for Captain America. What can I say?"

"Thank you for inviting me. I have to get on the freeway though, or I'll be late for work."

"It's not a problem. You'll be here next week, right?"

"I'll try."

"I'll hold you to it. And I'm still waiting for that pizza." I laughed and waved.

"I call about the pizza."

"You better."

I headed toward the hall when a man limped over to me and stuck out his hand. I reached out to shake his hand politely and he enveloped my hand in both of his.

"I just want to thank you for the service you've done for this country," he said. I shook my head.

"Thank you. But I didn't really do anything. Sam just likes to give more credit than is due," I assured him.

"Humility is not very becoming of you, Agent Hayes," he said. Then he stepped closer and his arm snaked around my back, gripping my shoulder a little tighter than I was comfortable with. I froze in a panic as he leaned over and whispered in my ear. "Hail HYDRA," he said. And then he was gone, the limp was gone. He marched out of the door and I stood there stunned for at least a whole minute.

The crowd was dissipating and a lot of people were saying goodbye to me as they left. I finally snapped back into focus and turned around to find Sam. He was standing by the podium again in the middle of a friendly conversation. I rushed toward him with my heart pounding and his eyes locked on mine. He seemed to sense my discomfort and told his companion to hold on. Then he hurried toward me.

"What's the matter? Are you okay?" he asked, taking my arms.

"Did you see the man I was talking to?" I asked him.

"Yeah, I know him he's a…"

"He's HYDRA."

"What?"

"He's HYDRA. He called me Agent Hayes and then he said 'Hail HYDRA." He shook his head.

"But he's been part of my group for a long time. He can't be HYDRA."

"Well he is, Sam. He's HYDRA."

"Alright, alright. Calm down. I'll talk to Steve."

"They're going to come back for him, aren't they? For Bucky?" He scanned the room the same way he scanned the diner. Then he turned to look down at me again.

"They're still out there," he said. "And you know what they say. Cut off one head and two more grow back."

"We have to find him. We have to protect him."

"He'll come to you, Jo. Let him come when he's ready." I sighed and shook my head.

"We can't let them have him."

He opened his mouth to speak when a loud explosion broke the calm of the room. The building shook and dust fell from the ceiling. People began screaming all throughout the building. Sam released me and hurried toward the window. I followed after him.

"Parking garage," he said. Then his eyes turned back to mine.

"My car," I replied.

* * *

Sorry for the late update tonight. I had to finish my schoolwork for this stupid personal finance class. Then I had to finish up 13 of my commissions. Then I got started on the next batch and completely fucked up the second one. And I'm super pissed because this shit is supposed to be "medieval" and "authentic" so I can't just ink with a regular pen. I have to use a calligraphy pen and ink. Which would be fine if I didn't lose my actual pen. So now I'm stuck having to actually dip my pen into the ink jar continuously. I finished one commission like this before that turned out SUPERB, despite taking so long. But no. This one decides to dump a bunch of ink on the almost finished painting TWICE. I need to get them done by Thursday and I have more after this that I need to do.

I'm just so fucking angry about this shit. Ruined the whole fucking thing. I'm just going to finish it and hand it over anyway. I don't fucking care. I'm not redoing that shit. Maybe I can make it look intentional somehow. Then I'm going to the goddamn art store and I'm going to buy a new pen for this shit.

So anyway, HAIL HYDRA!


	19. Chapter 19

Steve was really angry. And not in a sense that he was raving and ranting and storming and throwing things. That was the kind of anger I was used to. I even expected it. But instead he was pacing through my kitchen as I sat at the table with a cup of tea. He didn't speak, but his jaw as tight and he didn't look happy about the fact that HYDRA had blown up my car.

"They know," he finally said. I nodded and took a sip of tea.

"I gathered that much," I replied.

"I think you should go stay with Stark." My eyebrows rose and I looked up at him.

"No, I'm not going to stay with Stark. I'm staying right here. This is my home."

"They blew up your car, Jo. You think they're going to stop there?"

"No, of course not. But there's a reason they did what they did. You need to calm down and think about this a little more logically."

"I am thinking about it logically."

"No, you're not. The guy knew I wasn't in the car. He left me there. He wanted me to see that he blew up my car. And to be honest it was my fault in the first place. I was the one who showed up. I should have known that HYDRA or even the government would be watching Sam. It was different when he came to see me at the diner. I shouldn't have gone to the stupid meeting."

"It doesn't matter if you went or not. They would have come after you eventually. They didn't kill you because they were sending a message. Killing you would have set Bucky off into a rampage. He's too dangerous to them if you're dead. But they want you to know that they know what you're doing. This was a warning. They're going to come back for him and neither of you are safe here."

"We are safe here because Stark has this place wired from front to back. He told me he even scans for interference. Someone sets foot in my house and he knows about it. I get scared of a damn spider in my bathtub and he knows about it. Someone sticks a single piece of surveillance equipment on any wall and Stark will know. Don't under estimate him. He's an asshole but he's a damn brilliant one." He sighed and leaned against the counter.

"Bucky's not going to come back if they're watching you." I sat my mug back down on the table and watched the steam swirl from the top.

"He's not going to come back if I'm with Stark either, Steve. We have to do what we can."

"I don't want you to put your life at risk."

"Like I said, I'm not doing it for you." I looked up at him and he gave me a stern expression before turning his eyes on the fridge and crossing his arms.

"I can't let you put your life in danger for him either."

"Goddamn it, Steve, I'm not a fucking fairy princess, okay?" I was starting to get irritated and he turned to look at me with mild shock. "I know that's what you wanted me to be but you must not have read my file thoroughly enough before giving me the job. Unless you just gave it to me because I happened to be in the building at the same time as you."

"That was part of the reason." I gave a frustrated laugh.

"Well I'm not going to back down, okay? Call me stubborn if that's what you want. But stop treating me like a delicate flower. I played that part for you but I'm not a goddamn fairy princess. I'm a soldier. And I was a damn good one at that. I may not be able to shoot a gun but I can use a knife and I know how to take a man out using my elbow and thumb, okay? I knew I wasn't a match for Bucky and that's why I didn't say anything then. But let HYDRA bring me their best guys. All the big guys got arrested. And I'd love to get my hands on whoever's left." He nodded and turned his head toward the linoleum.

"I just don't want anything bad to happen to you because I put you in this situation," he said. I stood up and walked around the side of the table.

"You know what Sam said to me the other day? When he came to see me at the diner?" I asked him. I didn't wait for him to answer. "He said that some people thrive on battle. That they miss it. He said that's why you and him and Natasha continue to fight for what you think is right. Maybe I'm like that too. Maybe I'm not cut out for the domestic life and waitressing and living in a warm fuzzy house. Maybe I want to do something with my life. And what I want to do is help take down HYDRA and keep them from getting their hands on Sergeant James Barnes. So I need you to back me. Don't treat me like the fairy princess you built me to be. Treat me as your equal and a fellow soldier. And a friend." He looked up at me when I said those words. He had the look of a reprimanded puppy dog on his face. But then he nodded.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I just didn't want you to get hurt and I underestimated you. I have your back. 100%." I turned to head toward the hallway when I remembered something Steve told me about Bucky. Something Bucky had said long ago when they were still brothers. Something Steve had said to him when they were fighting on that helicarrier. I paused at the door and turned my head.

"Till the end of the line?" I asked him. I saw him freeze from the corner of my eye. He knew I wasn't asking for my own sake. But for Bucky. Because this was my fight too whether he liked it or not and I needed to remind him of the purpose for all of it. It wasn't me or Steve or HYDRA or anything else. It was Bucky. He opened his mouth to speak and his voice was sad.

"Always," he said. Then I nodded and turned to head upstairs.

* * *

So my beta/husband pointed out something to me that I want to elaborate on. He said that Steve is different in this story. And he said it's not a bad thing because of everything Steve is going through. And I want to point out THAT'S THE INTENDED PURPOSE. In Steve's story (which I think I'm slowly grasping and building) he will be much more like the Steve you see in the movies. This is not only after the events in Winter Soldier where he's going through a lot of shit, but he's also going through the shit in MY universe, which will be explained in his story. So Steve is not acting like himself on purpose. Not his purpose, my purpose. I hope that makes sense.

Also, this chapter is Bucky-less but it's important for the overall plot. Jo has a lot of fight in her. It's just dormant through most of this story.

And Bucky will be back soon. No worries.


	20. Chapter 20

The next morning I had called Megan/Morgan to come give me a ride to work. However, when I stepped outside to wait for her I found a shiny black car sitting in my driveway with a red bow on top.

"Jesus Fucking Christ," I said walking over to the damn thing and lifting the tag that was attached to the bow.

"Temporary. Your sister says it's temporary. It's temporary. Just put that on the card. Love Stark or something," is what it said. It was printed so I figured JARVIS had been in charge of making the tag and Tony hadn't bothered to check it. I sighed anyway and stepped back inside to call him.

"Yep?" he said in answer.

"The car on my driveway. Yours or HYDRAs?" I asked him.

"That would be mine. I promise. And it has a better computer than your… well your computer. No bombs." I sighed.

"And it's temporary?"

"Well, if you want it to be. It doesn't have to be temporary. Your sister just kept referring to it as a 'borrowed' car and that I wasn't allowed to gift you with things like cars."

"You're a ridiculous child, Tony," I said as I headed back out to the front.

"You're the one with a dangerous Nazi organization blowing up your car."

"You know what? You were on their list before I was even born, okay? And you have no room to talk because people try to kill you every day."

"Fair enough."

"Where are the goddamn keys? I'm late for work."

"Finger print."

"You have my finger print? Are you serious?"

"Somebody didn't have her Cheerios this morning." I groaned and yanked the car door open. Then I slid into the soft leather bucket of a seat and looked at the finger pad.

"Stop being a creep, Tony. I appreciate the gesture but a simple rent-a-car would have sufficed."

"Your fingerprint is on record. You're a former SHIELD agent. And I gave you this car because I don't know if you're aware of this, but you've been targeted by a terrorist organization that likes to blow up cars. The car scans for bombs." I shut the door and pulled the seat forward.

"Well, thank you. I appreciate the gesture. I'll give you the car back when I get a new one."

"The only way you're going to be able to afford a new car is if you come to work for me." I sighed and pressed my forehead against the steering wheel.

"I can't… I can't right now."

"I know. But the job is yours when you want it."

"Thanks, Tony. Tell Clara I said hi."

"Will do. Have a good day. Don't talk to terrorists." I half laughed and then ended the call.

* * *

Sorry this is still Bucky-less! And short! I was excited to get this chapter out because I thought Bucky was in it. But I was wrong. Next chapter, I promise. But we have Tony *Jazz hands* and we all know how much I love writing for Tony. Mostly because I have mentioned it numerous times.

Also, I got Steve's story figured out! I mean, I always knew the ultimate plot. But I couldn't get the start figured out because it was just so bland and boring. But I got it now and I'm going to start writing it asap. WOOT!

Also, also, I finished all my commissions this morning. With literally 15 minutes to spare. Hahaha.


	21. Chapter 21

I know I said it a lot, but I really hated waitressing. When I took up a waitressing job in high school to pay for my prom dress, I threw a party when I could finally afford to quit. My parents, of course, thought of this as a major adolescent failure and reminded me of it when I decided to join the army. Because I had apparently never stuck with anything and the military was going to be a lot harder than waitressing. Their lack of faith in me motivated me to get through basic training. And then proving them right all along just seemed to play a large role in my depression. According to my therapist.

By the time lunch-hour started I already had a raging headache and my feet hurt and my back hurt and I wanted to go home. The only good thing about the job was that it kept my mind off of Bucky and the fact that HYDRA had marked me as a threat.

When the lunch hour rush was over I took a break and sat down in a storage room in the back on a couple of old crates. I leaned against my knees and rubbed the ache from my forehead. The only good thing about this job was that I wasn't entirely unemployed. But the thought of going to work for Stark in a nice comfortably air conditioned office, seemed more appealing at that moment than it had before.

I heard the door swing open and Megan/Morgan popped her head in. I always forgot what her name was but she never bothered to correct me if I was wrong. I knew I got it wrong because I'd called her by both names more than once and she never said anything about either of them.

"Hey, I know you're on a break," she said. "But a creepy guy just came in and asked for you. I seated him in booth four where you always stick your guests." I nodded and stood up.

"Yeah, alright. Okay," I replied.

She held the door open for me and followed me back out to the dining area. I stopped short when I stepped into the room. The "creepy guy" was sitting in the booth with his back to the wall and his hood and cap over his eyes. But I recognized his gloved hands and shadowy figure.

"Is everything okay?" Morgan/Megan asked. "Do you want me to kick him out?"

"No, he's fine. He's a friend. Get him the biscuits and gravy, extra gravy. And some… milk or something. I'll pay for the meal. Just let me talk to him."

"Oh okay. I'll get it ordered for you."

"Thank you."

I came out from behind the bar and his darkened eyes met mine. He had his hands up to block out his face, just in case anyone recognized him. But he was probably drawing more attention to himself just for being such a shady figure. I sat down in the booth across from him.

"The hood is very conspicuous, Bucky. You might want to take it off," I whispered. He lifted his hand and slid it back off of his head.

"I didn't want you to know that I haven't brushed my hair," he replied. I smiled and reached across the table for his hands.

"I've missed you." He gave me a look of surprise, probably both at my words and the way I'd grabbed his hands.

"I haven't been gone that long."

"Two weeks. I didn't think I'd see you again."

"I had to come back. They tried to kill you." I squeezed his hands.

"They didn't try to kill me. They were just sending a message. You probably shouldn't even be here. Someone might recognize you."

"I didn't know where else to go."

"You're not in any trouble, are you?"

"No, I'm…" He stopped.

"You're hungry," I finished for him. He kept his eyes on mine and that was all I needed to answer the question. "It's okay. I'm having someone bring you something. And I'm sorry for interrupting you and Steve the other night. You deserved to talk to him alone."

"The conversation was over anyway." I looked over his face again. He had dark circles under his eyes and his beard was growing back in. It didn't look like he'd showered or slept in weeks.

"You should come home."

"I don't want to be a problem for you and Steve."

Then I thought about what Steve had said. If Bucky had mistakenly developed feelings for me because I was the only one to show him kindness. I wondered if he thought those feelings were going to cause problems for me and Steve. I wanted him to know it was all a sham. But I didn't want him to think that was an invitation either. He needed to work on himself.

"It hurts us more when you're not with us. Do you understand? There's absolutely nothing you need to be afraid of." I gave his hand a squeeze for emphasis. "Nothing." He nodded slowly.

"I came back because I don't want them to kill you," he told me.

"When was the last time you ate? And I mean a real meal. Not scraps."

"When I was with you."

"Good. We're bringing you biscuits and gravy. It's a breakfast food but we serve it all day and I thought you might like it. I don't know what kind of food you like."

"I like pizza." I laughed.

"Everyone likes pizza. Are you going to come home?"

"I shouldn't even have come here. Someone might see me."

"Please, Bucky? We'll finish your meal and then I'll clock out early. You won't be hurting either of us. Trust me. We want you there." His eyes traveled over my face before he focused on the table. I took a deep breath and decided to give him at least a little reassurance. Even if I couldn't tell him everything. "And… Steve and I… care about each other. But we're not… it's not…" His eyes lifted to mine again. "It's not serious. If that's… that's something that you're worried about."

"I…"

"Biscuits and gravy for the bearded gentleman," Morgan/Megan said as she approached our table and smiled. I released Bucky's hands and returned them to my lap. She sat the plate down in front of him. I wanted to ask her why she had hurried so fast to get his meal out to us. Normally it took at least ten minutes even though everything had been prepped that morning and the meal just needed to be heated. She was always in a rush to get French fries to Sam too. "Enjoy your meal," she said as she gave me a wink and walked off to help another customer.

Bucky examined the plate before lifting his eyes and watching her go.

"She works for someone. She's a spy. She's watching you," he whispered. My eyes went wide.

"What? How can you tell?" I asked him.

"She only ever works when you're working. Even if they're short staffed. She's the only waitress on the floor who checks her phone regularly and she seems to take her orders from the phone and not your manager. Plus she spends more time watching you than she does doing her job." It was the most I'd ever heard him speak all at once and I blinked a few times before turning around and to watch her help customers.

And then I really watched her. He was right. I could see the bulge of her phone in her apron pocket even though we weren't allowed to have our phones on us. She was wearing shoes that didn't fit the job. They probably cut into her heels. She was always there when I was, even when I came in early or on my days off. I always just thought she worked a lot. But then the truth smacked me in the face. She was watching me. I didn't recognize her. I turned back to Bucky. He hadn't touched any of his food or the milk she'd sat down next to the plate.

"Steve said it's likely that the government is keeping tabs on me. I guess I wasn't paying enough attention," I replied. "I don't think she'd poison you though. I can try it first if you want." His eyes cut to mine and they seemed tense and uncomfortable. I reached over and took his fork, then I cut myself a piece of biscuit and popped it into my mouth. He watched me chew and waited for me to swallow.

"See? No poison," I replied.

"I wasn't worried about it."

"Eat." I handed the fork back and he took it but didn't make another move to eat. I sighed. "Fine, do you want to go someplace else?"

"They're all over the place."

"Do you want me to make you something at home?" He didn't answer so I took the fork from him and placed it on the table. "I'll be right back. Just let me check out."

I stood up and went around to the back so I could remove my apron and check out early. I didn't care that I had a shift to follow. My manager never yelled at me because she was scared of me. Morgan or Megan hurried into the back to follow after me. I took my apron off and turned around to face her.

"HYDRA or government?" I asked her. She looked startled.

"What?"

"Answer my question. HYDRA or government? Did you poison my friend?"

"Why would I poison your friend?" I rolled my eyes.

"You're not a waitress. I should have seen it before. You're good at it, which means you've done this before. But this isn't your natural element. Either you work for the terrorists who blew up my car yesterday. Or you work for the government. I want to know if you poisoned my friend because the only one who is going to get sick is me and I'd like to know now so I can drive to the hospital and have my stomach pumped." She crossed her arms and gave me a look of disbelief.

"Talbot just wants me to make sure you're not leaking messages to HYDRA," she said. "Don't get your panties in a twist. I didn't poison you."

"Talbot? Why would Talbot have you tail me? I thought he trusted me."

"He does trust you. That's why you only have me. But I know that you've been sneaking conversations with Sam Wilson and that Captain America spends the night at your house a lot. I didn't know about Barnes but it might be smart for you to tell me now." I put my hand on my hip and looked around at the boxes of fresh fruits.

"He doesn't work for HYDRA anymore," I told her.

"Are you sure about that? He's dangerous, Jo." I nodded.

"He doesn't. That's why we're working with him. Tell Talbot to either stay out of it, or do me the favor and don't tell him you've seen Barnes at all. Trust me on this. This can save everyone. Barnes isn't dangerous. HYDRA had him by a leash. The leash is broken and he wants to fix what they've done to him. I can't help him, and everyone else, if Talbot ruins it." She sighed heavily and crossed her arms.

"I won't tell him if you think this is best. You're Talbot's most trusted officer. This was just a precaution. But if that man kills anyone, I'm serving your ass to Talbot on a gold platter."

"Thank you, Morgan," I said heading passed her.

"It's Marion, Jesus Christ," she replied.

* * *

*Sings* Bucky! *Waves hands*


	22. Chapter 22

The car that Tony got me seemed unusually small for Bucky. He wasn't entirely tall. I mean, he was average height for a man. But he had broad shoulders and large arms and took up a lot more space than I had anticipated. In fact, I had imagined what Steve probably looked like in the car and that had brought a laugh out of me. I hadn't thought about Bucky being in the car though.

"Okay, here's the deal," I told him as I drove onto the freeway. "When we got home, you're going to take a shower, I'm going to show you how to wash your clothes, and you're going to shave. If you want to. I don't know if beards are your thing or not. But I think you look less conspicuous without it. But anyway, shower, cleanliness. Then we're going to make dinner. I can't really afford to order out and I'm not a chef so it'll probably just be something out of my freezer or Hamburger Helper or something. Poor people food. But we're going to eat it anyway and I'm going to call Steve and tell him you came back."

"I don't want him to know," he said.

"Can I ask why?" I asked him.

"He makes me anxious. I'm more comfortable with you." I nodded slowly.

"Okay, then I'll wait to call Steve. But I want you to stay the night, okay? At least this once. You can leave in the morning after breakfast if you decide you don't want to stick around. But I don't know where you sleep at night. And I'm guessing it's on the streets. And I really don't like that idea, okay? I have a guest bedroom that has a futon. It's probably not very comfortable but I'm guessing it's better than sleeping on the ground."

"I've never heard you talk so much." I laughed.

"I'm just really glad that you came back and that you're okay. I was really worried about you. I guess I'm just relieved. You can tell me to stop if I'm annoying you."

"No. It's fine. You have a nice voice."

I took a deep breath and counted to four in my head. What if Steve and Sam were right? What if Bucky had attached himself to me and mistook it for romantic attraction? It wasn't that Bucky wasn't good looking. When he had his hair in a ponytail and the beard was gone he was very attractive. He had a really nice face and pretty eyes and a nice body. I mean, I'd never dated a guy with robotic limbs, but I wasn't against the idea.

The problem wasn't that at all. The problem was that there were too many problems. One being that I was supposed to be in a relationship with Steve. And the biggest, most obvious problem was that I was probably the first girl Bucky had even been around since the nineteen-forties. I was the first person since then to show him any real kindness and gentleness. And the largest problem was that Bucky was a broken man and had a lot of things to figure out and do before he could deal with something as huge and potentially harmful as a romantic relationship.

And another problem was that I, personally, was probably not emotionally stable enough for that either. Considering my last relationship ended when I'd put my knife to my boyfriend's throat.

Also, the HYDRA thing.

"Um… right well. That's the plan for tonight, okay? Does that sound good?" I asked.

"That sounds fine," he replied.

We got back to my house a little while later and I parked the car on the curb out front. It felt weird having Bucky in the car and even weirder letting him in through the front door like a normal person. We climbed out of the car and he flipped the hood back over his head as I searched for my keys.

I unlocked the door and let him into the house. He immediately tensed as if he had to do a quick check to make sure the house was empty. Just like Steve always did. But he refrained as I led him up the stairs to the bathroom.

"What did you do with Steve's clothes?" I asked him as I led him down the hall to the linen closet.

"I put them back," he said.

"Oh. Okay. Well, I'll go find you something to wear then. Here's a towel and washrag. You already know where everything else is. You left your toothbrush."

I stuck them in his arms and turned on the bathroom light for him. He passed me and I shut the door and left him alone. Then I returned to the kitchen to find something to make for dinner. I ended up sticking with the Hamburger Helper idea. It was all I had besides frozen chicken alfredo.

Bucky came back downstairs while I was waiting for our meal to simmer. I was sitting at the kitchen table looking over the electric bill I couldn't pay. When I looked up I found him already standing in the archway.

"Jesus," I said with a start. "You've got to stop sneaking up on me like that."

"Sorry," he replied.

"And you're not… wearing a shirt." I glued my eyes back to the bill and tried to keep them there.

"You didn't bring me one."

I tried to go back through my memories of collecting Steve's clothes to see if I had made that decision on purpose or subconsciously. But I couldn't remember.

"Sorry," I said standing and keeping my eyes on the floor. "I'll go get you one."

"Does it bother you?" he asked when I reached him. I finally looked up at his cleaner, though still bearded face.

"No. Why would it bother me? It's not like I've never seen a man's chest before. I mean. Times have changed. I don't know how they did things in the forties but…" He cleared his throat.

"I mean the arm."

"Oh. Oh!"

I hadn't even thought about that. I looked down at where his skin was fused to the metal. The scarring was pretty bad and it must have been a horrendous surgery. Despite HYDRA being the cause of so many terrible things, they had done a good job on it. I knew Stark would probably love to get his hands on it. But I reached out and touched his metal shoulder. Then I ran my hand down to where the metal met his skin and I knew for certain he could feel me.

"No, it doesn't bother me," I said looking back up at his eyes. "Does it hurt?"

"Sometimes," he said.

I kept my hand on his skin and then a thought struck me. And I hated myself the moment it hit me. It was bad and it was wrong and there were so many different reasons for why it was bad and wrong. But the thought hit me anyway. I thought, maybe for just one second, that it wouldn't be so bad loving Bucky.

And this was absurd, of course, because while the guy was handsome, he hardly ever spoke. We didn't have a whole lot of conversations when he was around. He thought I was in love with Steve and the man didn't even know himself. And as much as it pained me to say it, I hardly knew myself either. So I shoved the thought away as quickly as it had come. I reminded myself that it was stupid and it could never happen. Maybe it was loneliness and the fact that it was the first time in a long time that someone might have been attracted to me. Even if it wasn't for the right reasons. So I removed my hand and turned toward the hallway.

"I'll be right back," I told him.

"Okay," he replied.

* * *

Chapter 22: Jo gets nervous and chatty in the presence of hot guys with robotic limbs.

So I'm sorry for not updating last night. I had every intention of doing so but then I played Sims for several hours and when I looked at the clock it was really late and I had to go to bed.

Quick question. If I were to write a sequel for this story, would any of you mind if it was written in 3rd person? Because I've been brainstorming a whole heck of a lot and I realized if I actually do write these ideas out, they might be better written in 3rd person. However, I don't want to change things up on you guys like that. I know that can be irritating. Especially if you're comfortable reading a certain way. But since majority of the story will be told from Jo's standpoint I can still very well make it a 1st person perspective. But certain things will have to be left out and/or written differently. I just realized it would not only be easier to be in 3rd person, but might be BETTER/more awesome. But I wanted to run that by you guys before I made the choice. It could still change. I just wanted to make sure first.

So anyway, let me know if you can or care. Otherwise I'm just going to do whatever.


	23. Chapter 23

After dinner I managed to convince Bucky to stay the night, though I couldn't guarantee that he would still be there in the morning, let alone by the time Steve got back. Either way, getting him to agree was a huge success for me. I led him upstairs to the guest bedroom where I also kept my laptop and stored all my crap. I gave him a pair of Steve's sweatpants to wear and then I pulled out the futon and made the bed for him while he changed in the bathroom. When he came back everything was ready to go.

"I hope it's comfortable," I said as I fluffed a pillow.

"It's fine," he replied. I stood up and looked over his clean shaven face. He had his hair back in the ponytail and I decided that I really liked it on him. But if he wanted to blend in and not get caught by HYDRA or whoever else was after him, he was probably going to have to cut his hair.

"So um…"

"Can I ask you something?"

It was the first time he had ever interrupted me. And that was when I finally noticed how much more natural he was starting to sound with his speech. In the beginning his words were always flat and emotionless and to the point. But now I noticed that his tone had changed and sometimes I even caught a hint of amusement when he spoke. He also appeared much more comfortable and relaxed in general.

"You can ask me anything you want," I told him.

"You said something… before… about Steve. And it made me wonder."

"What's that?"

"You said that he doesn't love you like he loves me. And that it wasn't serious." I blinked as I tried to remember when I'd said that. I couldn't remember at all. But I decided to answer anyway.

"It's not that I don't think he loves me. I just… I don't think it's… special."

"What do you mean?"

"Steve's been through a lot. And so have I. And we care about each other a lot. But I think it's more just… convenience and… loneliness."

"That's what you meant… when you said it hurt more when I wasn't here." I nodded.

"Yeah. And you… this is what you were referring to when you said… when you said this wasn't an option. You were afraid of…"

"Yes." I sighed and looked down at the floor. I hugged my arms to myself and tried to think of how to get out of this situation. I was flattered, and maybe a little bit thrilled. But at the same time my logic was telling me it was wrong. And despite how I might feel I couldn't act on it.

"Bucky," I said slowly. "There's something I need to tell you."

"What is it?" I sat down on the futon and pulled my cardigan closer. I really didn't want him to get angry, but I didn't want him to hate me either. I wanted him to trust me. And so I decided to tell him the truth.

"I'm not… who you think I am." I looked up at him and he was looking down at me thoughtfully. But he didn't show any response. "I'm not… Steve's girlfriend. I never have been. I used to work for SHIELD. We set this up so that you would feel less threatened about making contact with Steve."

"I know," he said softly. My eyebrows rose.

"How did you know?"

"You're a soldier. I can tell." I rubbed my eyes and nodded.

"Yeah, I'm a soldier. I was anyway. And then I got shot and I got sent home." He sat down beside me and I felt the futon creak under his weight.

"There's a woman in New York that Steve loves." I looked at him.

"How did you know that?"

"I know a lot of things."

"So how long did you know this was a setup?"

"I always knew. I just couldn't be certain how you really felt about Steve. He cares for you."

"Why didn't you say anything?" He turned his blue eyes on mine.

"Because I figured you would tell me when it was the right time," he said.

"Then why did you come to me if you knew that I was lying to you?" I asked.

"Because I could see the same darkness in you that's inside of me. My darkness just grew larger and more monstrous than yours." I shook my head.

"Stop calling yourself that."

"I trust you, Jo," he said. It was the first time he'd ever said my name out loud. "And I know that you trust me. That's all I wanted. Steve doesn't trust me. He wants to. But he still thinks I'm going to… to… show my monster. You have trusted me from the start. You could have called for help when I hurt you. But you didn't. You could have had them take me away and dealt with me in a facility or someplace else. Instead you helped me do it on my own. Not because it was your job but because you wanted to. You made me want to… be human again."

"You are human. And I want you to be everything that you want to be. But whatever it is that you think you feel for me. It's not real. No matter how much we might want it to be." His eyebrows creased and for a moment I flushed with embarrassment at the thought of being wrong.

"How do you know what's real and what isn't?" he asked. I sighed.

"Because I'm the first person… since you got free… And it's been a long time. And I don't want you to be confused. Or get hurt. I want you to focus on getting better and living and not having to worry about me at all. Let alone… in that way." He nodded slowly.

"I don't really think you get to decide who I can worry about." I flopped forward and leaned into my hands.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I don't get to make decisions for you either. I can't change anything. I just want you to know that this isn't the right time. Not now." I lifted my head again and he nodded.

"I know," he said in the same flat tone as before.

* * *

Short chapter. Sorry. I don't feel very well.


	24. Chapter 24

The house was quiet when I went to bed and I found that I couldn't sleep. I couldn't hear Bucky at all in the other room and I hoped that if he did decide to leave I would at least hear the door open. But no sounds came at all and it really unnerved me to have to listen to the ringing in my ears that came with the silence.

I was still awake when I heard the front door open and close downstairs. I sat upright just in case Bucky had panicked. I knew he must have heard it because I figure he was either a light sleeper like me and Steve, or he didn't sleep at all. I heard Steve do his usual check of the house and then I heard his footsteps on the stairs. I still waited for a reaction from the guest room but I heard nothing.

Then my bedroom door opened and Steve appeared in the darkness.

"Hey," he said when he noticed I was still awake. He peeled off his light jacket and hung it on the back of my chair by the window. "I decided to crash here for a few hours, if that's okay. I have to leave pretty early."

"It's fine," I told him. "I need to talk to you though." He paused for a second to look at me and I nodded to prove whatever ideas he had in his mind. He pulled off his shoes and then sat down beside me on the bed in his usual spot.

"He came back," he said quietly.

"He's in the other room," I told him. "At least I think he is. I don't think he managed to sneak out this time. It's hard to tell. He's really quiet."

"How did you convince him to stay?"

"He showed up at the diner. I think he was just hungry and didn't know where else to go. But Talbot has an agent on me and he spotted her before I did. He didn't feel comfortable so I brought him back here and made him dinner. I let him use your things again if that's okay."

"That's fine."

"And I just told him he had to at least stay one night. And we talked… about what we discussed before." His eyebrows rose in question and I nodded again. "And I kind of… spilled the beans."

"What do you mean?"

"I told him that I used to work for SHIELD and this was a setup."

"Why did you tell him?"

"Because I want to gain his trust. I think he's really making progress and if the only reason he thinks he can't be here is because of this fake relationship then I wanted him to know it wasn't real. And apparently he already knows because he mentioned your girl in New York. He just didn't know if I had any feelings for you." He sighed and sat away from me.

"I didn't want to bring her into this."

"Why didn't you tell me about her?"

"It's complicated."

"But you love her."

"I do. I just wasn't sure that she loved me back. Like I said, it's complicated."

"I don't think you have to worry about her. She's not in any danger. He just mentioned that he knew about her." He nodded.

"She can take care of herself."

"So anyway, yeah. I told him. And he said he already knew. He said he could tell I was a soldier. He knows far more than we gave him credit for."

"He was always pretty sharp. Intuitive."

"And I'm sorry I didn't call you. I wanted to but he asked me not to."

"So he definitely has a thing for you." I nodded.

"I'm pretty sure," I admitted. "But I told him it wasn't the right time to act on it and he agreed."

"That's good."

"Yeah."

"I guess this means I don't have to stay over anymore."

"I'd still like for you to stay as close to him as possible. He needs you." He dropped his head and nodded.

"I will. I'll talk to him tomorrow. I'll sleep on the couch?"

"You don't have to, Steve. It's not like one more night is going to make a difference. Besides, I've gotten kind of used to having you around." He gave a half laugh and I could feel the tension easing his shoulders. I knew he still probably wouldn't get any sleep. But at least he could be himself again.

"Alright," he said with a nod. "I'll stay. But just so I can keep an eye on him."

"Deal."


	25. Chapter 25

The next morning I woke early to the sound of my phone ringing. I jumped out of bed but Steve was gone and the sky was still dark. I scrambled to reach my phone from the nightstand and then I inwardly winced when I didn't recognize the number. I didn't like taking unknown calls. But I was in this situation because of an unknown call. I pressed accept anyway and brought the phone to my ear.

"Hello?" I said.

"Kitchen, now," the voice snapped.

"What? My kitchen?"

"Now." Then he hung up.

I felt my heart pounding in my chest as I flung the covers off and hurried to turn on the light. I didn't want to meet anyone in my kitchen without proper clothes on. So I pulled on some jeans and a plain shirt and reached for my shiny pink knife. I stepped out into the hallway, hearing voices down below. It could have been HYDRA, but I could just make out the low sound of Steve's voice and he seemed calm. I crossed the hall and gave the guestroom door a knock.

"Bucky? Are you awake?" I asked quietly. There was no answer. So I reached for the doorknob and pushed the door open. The room was empty and the bed was made. But the pillow was ruffled and the room still smelled like Steve's soap. So I assumed Bucky had at least stayed the night.

"Great," I muttered. Then I hurried down the stairs to see who was in my house.

The entire group was waiting for me in my kitchen. Sam, Steve, Romanoff, and…

"D-Director Fury," I said, nearly stumbling into the room. "I thought you were dead."

"Almost," he said standing to his feet. He winced from unseen pain but pushed it away as quickly as I'd seen it. "What the hell did you do?" he snapped at me. I looked around at their faces. Steve and Sam both seemed apologetic. Romanoff was expressionless.

"What do you mean, what did I do?" I asked him. He slammed his hands on my table and it looked like it caused the man some pain, but no one made a mention of it.

"You blew your own cover."

"The job was to get Bucky to make contact with Steve, which he did. My job was to help Steve help Bucky, which is what I'm doing."

"Your mission was to be a decoy. Your mission was to stand in the background and look cute while Rogers took care of the situation." I stood back and crossed my arms over my chest.

"Last I checked I didn't have to take orders from you. Or anyone for that matter. I'm not being paid for this job, therefore you have no say about how I choose to do it. Bucky came to me and I did exactly what everyone wanted me to do. I was gentle like everyone wanted me to be. It wasn't my fault that he came to me first. I still played my part and got him to talk to Steve. I still made sure he was safe."

"He's not safe. He's not safe for any of us." I saw Steve tense from the corner of my eye and Sam shook his head. I felt my own eyes narrow.

"He's not a monster, Director Fury. He's a broken man and he's killed as many people as you have." I knew I'd struck a cord the second I said it. Fury believed the work he did had done was for the greater good. So did Bucky at one time.

"Excuse me?" he asked.

"Bucky didn't realize what he was doing was wrong. But when he figured it out he tried to redeem himself. You still seem to be making excuses for why you had guns pointed at half the world."

"My job was to protect this world."

"Bucky thought that's what his job was too. And your job almost killed half the planet. Including my sister."

"I want you off the mission. I want you to cease contact with Barnes immediately." I had to laugh.

"You honestly think that telling me not to see him is going to stop anything? That man is better at hiding and searching than any of you. He's going to find me no matter where I go. And pissing him off is the last thing you want to do right now. I blew my cover to gain his trust. He already knew anyway. He knew from the start. Your plan failed. Mine didn't."

"I can put up a perimeter around your house."

"She's the only one who can get through to him. If you put up a barrier between Bucky and her right now you can completely tear down all of the work that she's done," Steve said to my defense. Fury cut his eye to the captain.

"With all due respect, Captain, Agent Hayes isn't emotionally stable enough for the job. I thought that would have been something you would have considered before considering her. Her therapist advised me to stick her in a desk job where I could watch her. She has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and is prone to violent outbursts." I gritted my teeth and shifted from one foot to the other. I wanted to scream at him but I kept my mouth shut.

"With all due respect," Steve said in a cold voice, "That's the whole reason Bucky went to her in the first place. She's the only one who understands him. And if you take that link away from him you're going to put a lot of people's lives in danger."

"It's okay, Steve," I said lifting my hand to silence him. "Fury never intended for me to be a decoy. Not when he permitted you guys to give me this job. I was just bait. Fury isn't angry that I blew my cover. He didn't want me to help you. You said so yourself. You don't trust SHIELD. Fury allowed you to give me this job to prove that Bucky would harm an innocent civilian. He's angry that I proved that theory wrong. Bucky isn't dangerous. Not unless you start manipulating him. I'm going to keep working with him. I'm going to try and rehabilitate him. I know I'm not emotionally stable. But Steve is right. That's the whole reason Bucky came to me and that's why I'm the best person to do it."

He leaned his knuckles against my table and glared at me with his one eye. I could feel his anger in the room and I hated him for putting me in such a stressful situation. But I still wanted to help Bucky.

"If he kills anyone," he said slowly. "A single person. It's on you." I gave a quick nod.

"I won't let that happen."

"Prove it."

* * *

This chapter feels off to me. But I had to change it around to fit with the SHIELD stuff so ugh...


	26. Chapter 26

After everyone was gone I went to the storage where Romanoff had packed my stuff. It was afternoon by the time I got back to my house. And even though I'd been chewed out by Nick Fury I was feeling a great deal better than I had before. Bucky had come back, I'd convinced him to stay the night, and then he'd reacted well to my honesty.

The only thing that I was worried about was the fact that Bucky hadn't stayed the whole night. I knew that he had slept at least for a little bit. Or he had just laid there for a long time. But he had been gone by the time I woke up in the morning. Steve said he didn't hear anyone leave the bedroom and he didn't want to bother Bucky when he woke up in the morning. So he wasn't sure when he had left either.

Unfortunately my house was empty when I managed to get inside. I had to shut the door with my foot and then I set my box on the couch.

"Bucky? Hello? Anyone home?" I called out, there was no answer of course. So I headed back out to the car to get the rest of my stuff.

A little while later I had my clothes back in the closet and I was sitting on the floor going through my military stuff. I had my uniform, my medals, my throwing knives, my pictures, my letters from home, and my discharge papers. I was still sifting through them when I heard my floor creak and I turned around and he was standing in my bedroom.

"Hey," I said with a smile. "When did you leave?"

"Early. I didn't want to bother you," he replied.

"You can sit down." He took a seat on the chair Steve normally left his coat on. I shoved my box back into the closet. Then I turned to face him and crossed my legs. "I got in trouble this morning for telling you the truth," I told him. "But I think it worked out okay. So Steve is going to come by later and pick up his stuff. We're going to have dinner. All of us. That includes you, okay?"

"You're trying to domesticate me." I smiled, but I was thinking about what Sam had said. Some of us couldn't be domesticated.

"Was that a joke?" I asked him. "I'm not trying to domesticate you. I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do. But what I want to do is help you. So as long as you're willing to accept my help, I will offer it."

"I'll stay for dinner."

"Excellent. And you'll stay the night again?"

"If you want me to."

"Good. Will you help me make dinner?" He almost smiled. I could sense it.

"I'm not sure that I'll be any help."

"We'll figure it out. C'mon, let's go check out what I have." I stood up and stretched my hand out for him to take. He studied my hand for a moment but I waited patiently until he lifted his right hand and slid it into mine. Then he stood and followed me down the stairs.

Bucky really wasn't lying when he said he wouldn't be of much help in the kitchen. For the short time that I'd known him I'd seen the machine HYDRA had made him, I'd seen confusion, I'd seen curiosity. But I'd never seen fear. Until now. And I have to admit it was kind of amusing.

"No," I said hurrying over to the stove where he stood. "No, no, no. You don't want to use a metal spatula for this." I took the spatula from his hand before he scraped the hell out of the bottom of my non-stick pot. "This is non-stick. They didn't have these back in your day, but now they make pots with Teflon on the bottom and it stops your food from sticking so badly. If you use a metal spoon you'll just scrape up all the Teflon and our spaghetti sauce will taste like metal."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't be." I reached for a wooden spoon and handed it over. "Wood is usually the best for cooking."

"You know a lot about cooking." He began to stir the spaghetti sauce like I'd told him and I returned to the counter where I'd laid out meatballs.

"Not really. I mean… It's jarred sauce and I was the one who forgot to spice the meatballs before baking them. But I guess some of my mother's lessons stuck."

"I don't remember my mother."

"I'm sorry, Bucky."

"I grew up in an orphanage." I turned to look at where he was slowly stirring the pot of sauce.

"I didn't know that."

"It's alright."

"Is there anything else you remember now?" I asked him.

"I remember Steve's mom. She was nice. Like you." I nodded.

"That's sweet."

"I remember joining the army and constantly having to get Steve out of fights in back alleys. I remember Connie. I remember the Commandos. I remember Steve finding me when I was beginning to forget him."

"Sounds like you remember a lot."

"I don't remember details. I don't remember little things. Off days. I remember events, people. I don't remember important things."

"You will," I told him. "It gets easier after time. The details are always the hardest to grasp. Sometimes you just need a little bit of a push. I'm sure the more you talk to Steve the more things will come to you." He nodded and turned his head to the side. He wasn't looking at me but I could see his face since his hair was pulled back.

"I remember most of it because of you," he said quietly.

"Me? Why me?"

"Because when I'm with you I feel comfortable." I smiled to myself again.

"Well, I'm glad. Now you know why I think it's important that we stick together."

"You don't find it difficult? Having me around?" He went back to stirring and I had forgotten about the meatballs.

"I find it more difficult not knowing where you are, if you want me to be honest with you."

"I appreciate honestly." I heard the sound of Steve's motorcycle rumbling down the street. I saw his spine go straight but he kept stirring. I probably could have told him he didn't have to stir constantly, but I think he liked it.

"Promise you'll stay?" I asked him quietly.

"I already did," he replied.

"I think the meatballs are ready for the sauce. I'm going to bring them to you." I lifted the pan and went back to his side. He stepped away so I could slide the meatballs into the sauce. When I was done I looked up and he was already watching me.

"I have an idea," I told him as I took the wooden spoon and stirred the meatballs. "I think you should stay the weekend with me. I don't have to work and you're free to do what you want. But I want you to at least stay the weekend. I'm not trying to change you or domesticate you. I just want you to re-learn how to take care of yourself. In a normal boring kind of way. Like we can mow the lawn and weed the garden and I'll go to the grocery store and we can make food and watch crappy movies. If you want. How does that sound?" He almost smiled again.

"It sounds… really boring," he replied. And then I saw his lips turn up at the corners and my eyes narrowed.

"Are you smiling?" I asked.

"I might be." I laughed and the front door opened from the living room.

"It's me," I heard Steve say.

"We're in the kitchen." He came around the corner and smiled.

"Smells great."

"Tastes even better. Bucky helped with the sauce." He cringed.

"He never was any good at it."

"He was never any good at breathing," Bucky replied as he turned back to the sauce and took the spoon from me. Steve was smiling again.

* * *

Sorry for not updating last night. I ended up being busy all damn day and no one would leave me alone for like five freaking minutes. And then when everyone went to bed and finally left me alone I was like "Fuck everything. I'm watching Once Upon a Time." So I did that.

And then today I had a shit ton of homework to get caught up on and I fried my brain.

Anyway, this is meant to be a kind fun "things are going well at the moment" chapter. HOWEVER, there is a teeny tiny hint of something that is going to come. If you find it, I'll give you a um... digital pat on the back. If you don't find it, that's okay because it's not meant to be noticed until the sequel anyway. So no worries. :D


	27. Chapter 27

Dinner went surprisingly well. I let Steve and Bucky do most of the talking since they had more to talk about than I did. And I was pleased to see that Bucky was actually progressing a lot from when he first showed up in my kitchen. He asked Steve a lot of questions and Steve was happy to answer them. And sometimes Steve would tell funny stories about the shenanigans they got into and Bucky would give that almost smile and I hoped, and wondered, if he remembered them too.

But then when we were cleaning up my phone started ringing and I saw my sister's name appear on the screen. Since I was now allowed to talk to her comfortably I excused myself and took the phone into the other room, where I hoped they couldn't hear me.

"Hey," I said as I answered and sat down on the couch.

"Okay, just what the hell are you doing now?" Clara replied.

"I'm eating dinner, why?"

"That's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about your new volunteer job. Playing babysitter for the Winter Soldier."

"He's not… that's not who he is anymore. And I'm not his babysitter. I'm just helping him."

"Do you have any idea how stupid that is?"

"Excuse me?"

"He's dangerous, Jo. I know that everything is fine and dandy right now but it doesn't mean it will stay that way."

"I'm pretty sure I'm allowed to make my own decisions. And I asked for this job, Clara. It's not like it landed in my lap and I had no choice."

"That's exactly how it happened. Because when they gave you your first mission they knew damn well you wouldn't turn it down because you never turn anyone down. And it did fall in your lap because this guy attached himself to you and you're playing mama cat like you did when we were kids."

"I still don't think it's any of your business."

"No, it is my goddamn business because I worry about you constantly and you're going to end up losing your house when you start getting behind on payments. It's my job to make sure you're okay and you making it difficult."

"It's not your job to make sure I'm okay. I'm doing just fine."

"I'm your big sister and it will always be my job to make sure you're okay. And you always get yourself into these situations where your life, and mental state, are at stake."

"My mental state is just fine."

"For now! And so is his! For now! What about when he snaps and pulls a gun on you? What about when he comes after you with that stupid arm of his and tries to choke you to death? What happens if we can't get to you fast enough, Jo?"

"He's not going to snap. He's doing really well and he wants to be a good person and I'm going to help him, not because I want to play mama cat, but because I know what it's like to be alone. And I don't want him to have to be alone. He can't be. He's making progress because he's not alone."

"You've never been alone. I've always done everything I could to be there for you. You were the one who moved to DC instead of going home to Ohio. You were the one that chose SHIELD over me. I offered to let you stay with me. I offered to help you find a job."

"I didn't choose SHIELD over you. I chose a normal life. And I was alone. I've always been alone. Even if I went home to mom and dad or I went to live with you, I would still be alone. Because none of you have ever had to watch people die, Clara. None of you have ever had to kill anyone."

"You think that I've never had to watch people die? That's what this is? Because I don't have PTSD? Because I don't know if you're aware of this, but a lot of people died here, Jo. And I was here. And I saw it happen." I sighed.

"What happened in New York was different. It was scary and sudden and I know it was traumatizing for you and Tony, but it's different when you go to war voluntarily, Clara. And when you fail. And people die BECAUSE of you."

"I just don't know why you're constantly trying to prove your strength. First with enlisting and then with SHIELD and now with babysitting a Soviet assassin."

"Don't you dare, for one second, tell me that I'm not strong."

"I'm not saying you're not strong."

"That's exactly what you're saying. I do what I do to prove my strength. You think I'm doing this job to prove that I'm a strong person."

"I'm just saying you don't need to do this to prove anything."

"Clara… Do you know what the number one cause of death for ex-soldiers is? Do you? It's suicide. So the fact that I'm still here should be a good indicator that I'm strong enough for whatever it is you think I'm trying to prove. I don't need your support or your approval. There were so many times where I wanted to die, and so many times I proved myself. Even if you weren't around to see it." She was silent for what felt like a full minute. And then I heard her sniff.

"Jo… I'm not trying to say that you're not strong or that you need to prove anything. I know that you're strong. I just don't know why you insist on putting yourself in dangerous situations. I know that you care… way more than normal people. And I know that you think that you can help him. But what exactly do you expect to be the outcome of this? What do you think is going to happen? That one day he's going to wake up and be perfectly normal? That the world is going to forgive him for everything HYDRA made him do? That he's going to take a simple desk job and file papers with his robotic arm and walk around with a smile on his face. You know damn well that he's too damaged to live a normal life. You haven't gone through nearly the same trauma as he has, and you can barely make it through the night without…"

"Just stop," I told her. "Just shut up."

"I'm trying to make you open your eyes, Jo. It's been over five years and you're still not better. You function but only because you have to. But you're miserable. I know that you are. And you know that he's not going to be like you. No matter how strong he is. In five years he's going to be exactly where you are. Alone and miserable. And that's putting it nicely because he's been through so much more. If you want my honest opinion I think it's going to take him ten years to get where you are. And that will be considered progress. You can't just rewire his brain. You can't teach him how to do his own laundry and then expect him not to snap when something goes wrong."

"What do you want me to do? You want me to give up on him? You want me to tell him to leave me alone so that I can go back to not having a purpose? I know that he's gone through worse than me," I told her. "I don't need you to remind me. And I know that he's never going to be okay. But I want to do something worthwhile. I'm not meant to sit behind a desk and file papers. I'm meant to help people."

"But you've already done so much," she pleaded.

"No, I haven't. You know that I haven't. I didn't enlist just to prove to everyone that I was strong. I did it because I wanted to do something with my life. Mom always said that I would never amount to anything but motherhood. That's what I wanted to prove wrong. I don't want to just… cook and clean and take care of someone and never have accomplished anything other than helping someone else… live. I wanted to save people's lives. I wanted to help people. And I messed that up."

"No, you didn't."

"Just let me talk. I did mess it up. I couldn't pull the trigger and I nearly got myself killed. And I joined SHIELD for the same reason. I wanted to do something meaningful. I wanted to have a job that helped people. And that blew up in my face… literally. It turned out I was working for the bad guy all along and now my career is over and I don't even know how I'm going to pay my electric bill. So yeah, maybe it's crazy and I'm stubborn and my mama cat tendencies are kicking in. But I want to help him. I want to do something important."

"But you just got done saying you didn't want to be known for doing nothing more than helping someone else live. You didn't want to cook and clean and take care of someone and never accomplish anything. But that's exactly what you're doing, Jo. You're taking care of him. You're helping him more than you're helping yourself."

"Helping him is helping me. It's not like… a maternal kind of thing. I'm doing this because it's good for everyone. For him and me and Steve and the rest of the world. Even if I can't be remembered for being a hero who killed an alien with a staple remover, at least I can be known for being the person who brought James Barnes back from the grave."

"You're too goddamn stubborn," she said with a sigh. "I just don't want to lose you. I can't lose you again."

"You never lost me," I told her.

"Yes, I did and you know it. You came home and you were an entirely different person. And I just don't want something to happen to you and lose you completely or have you come back even more withdrawn."

"Well, I'm sorry that I can't be the sister you want me to be. But I'm taking this job whether it gets me killed or not. I have to. I want to. And all I want from you is to support my decision. Even if you don't like it."

"Fine. Yeah. Just don't tell mom what you're doing. You'll give her pleurisy."

"I won't. But I need to go help the super-soldiers clean my kitchen. So I'll talk to you later." I didn't wait for her to say goodbye. I hung up and sat down on the couch. I put my head in my hands and took four deep breaths. Then I heard the floor creak and I looked up. Bucky was standing by the staircase with a concerned expression on his face.

"Are you okay?" he asked. I smiled and stood back up.

"I'm fine, yeah. Just arguing with my sister," I told him. His eyebrows creased.

"She doesn't like what you're doing for me," he decided. I shook my head.

"No, it's not like that at all. My family doesn't like anything that I do. It's not you. They've been trying to make me normal and boring my whole life."

"Normal and boring isn't who you are." I took a deep breath and slapped my hands to my side.

"You're right. It isn't. Would you guys like some help with the dishes?" He lowered his head but then looked back up at me. His lips turned up into that same almost smile from before.

"I think we can handle it," he said. Then he turned back around and headed back to the kitchen.

The argument with my sister left me rattled, but I tried not to let it get to me. Steve and Bucky were getting along. Bucky was making progress and that was all that mattered to me. Sure, there was always the possibility that he could snap and revert back to The Winter Soldier at any moment. But even if that happened I was confident that he had gotten enough of Bucky back to be saved. And even if he did snap, I was confident that I could pull him out of it.

Once Steve finished helping us and got all his stuff together I walked him out to his bike. He had nothing but a backpack to hold the stuff he'd left at my house. He looked kind of silly with it on his back. Like a giant kid riding his giant bike to school.

"I talked to Stark this morning," he told me as he stepped off the curb.

"How fun for you," I replied. He smiled.

"Well, he decided to add me to the list of people to call if anything happens. Rhodes isn't always here and can't always be relied on. If you press your panic button I won't be too far away." I instinctively touched the bracelet on my wrist. I had forgotten its real purpose. I wore it every day and I knew I had to take it off to shower. But it had become just sort of a piece of jewelry I had grown used to.

"Thanks, Steve," I said. He nodded and mounted his bike.

"Don't mention it. And uh… thanks. For you know. Volunteering to do this job. And for everything else you've done."

"Thanks for sticking up for me against Fury." He gave that smile again and kicked the bike into life.

"Don't mention it."

* * *

Sorry. Again. For not updating. I randomly got sick for no reason and I still have no idea what was wrong. I was just really really dizzy and I couldn't focus and I kept feeling like I was going to throw up from motion sickness. And finally I was just like "fuck this" and laid down even though I wasn't tired. And then I fell asleep and now I'm magically better. *Shrugs* But now I'm starving. And I want to order food because I don't want to cook anything. But if I order something then I have to order for my dad and my sister too. And mostly I just want a soda. And I made like a pound of fried tofu earlier and I have no idea why I decided to make that much tofu. But I don't want to eat it and now I have all this fucking tofu.

Also, I started editing this story. Not like rewriting anything. Everything is the same. I'm just fixing grammar and punctuation mistakes. I should have done this from the start but I was too excited to wait. I'm also trying to add a few more environmental details that I might have left out in my eagerness to write the story. That is all. Carry on.


	28. Chapter 28

I was glad that Bucky was staying another night and that I had the weekend off. I had the entire weekend planned in my head. I wanted it to be as boring and normal as possible. The truth was that I didn't know what else we could do outside of the house. I didn't know if HYDRA was still watching me and I didn't want to lead Bucky into a trap. Plus I figured boring and normal might be good for him. Despite what Clara said, he did need to learn how to do his own laundry.

But I couldn't sleep. To be completely honest, I hated sleeping alone. It wasn't that I wanted Bucky to crawl into bed with me or anything. It wasn't even that I wanted Steve by my side. Steve came and went and I enjoyed it when he was there. But I was used to being alone and used to hating it. Clara said the only reason I ever stayed with Oscar for so long was because I didn't like sleeping alone. She was right.

My room was always dark and there were a lot of trees in my yard and my neighbor's yard. The only time my room ever lit up was when something tripped the motion sensor light. So I was lying in my bed on my side staring at the way the light made twisted patters on my walls. The light was bright and I couldn't fall asleep with it on. I watched as a little fat raccoon body scaled the tree in my yard. Then I heard him thump on to the roof and scuttle into his nest in the attic.

I probably should have called someone to get Rocket out of my attic. I knew he was probably causing some damage to my house that would come back to bite me when I had to sell it. But I really had made peace with the little guy. He never bothered me except for when he got into my trash, but he rarely made messes. He usually preferred the neighbor's trash because they had more people to feed and thus had more scraps.

It made me feel good that he liked my attic though. Sometimes I saw him when I went outside at night. He would scuttle across my yard chirping and making little noises. He would stare at me with his eyes reflecting the lights from the kitchen. And I would always say hello and let him be on his way.

Maybe Clara was right. Maybe I was too nice and I did have a mother cat instinct. I let my attic and house suffer due to a raccoon that I named and almost considered a pet. And now I was potentially putting my own health at risk by taking in a trained assassin with memory loss. Maybe my mom was even right. It was in my nature to care for things. She just said it the wrong way. Her declaration about me being destined for motherhood was probably just her way of saying I was destined to care for others.

I could live with that, but she probably could have worded it differently.

Then I heard a muffled moan from the other room and I lifted my head. The door was closed and so was the door the guest room. But I could hear Bucky's subdued struggle even from the distance. Bucky was a quiet person. He only spoke when he needed to speak and he rarely made noises as it was. So the fact that he was groaning in the guestroom made me realize something was wrong.

I couldn't sit there and let him go through it. I knew how much it sucked to have to fight through a nightmare just to wake up all alone. And then have to remind yourself that it wasn't real. My nightmares weren't as bad when Steve was with me. He was always there to wake me up before they got too far and to bring me back home. I wanted Bucky to feel that same comfort. So I climbed out of my bed and tiptoed across the hall to the guestroom.

I knocked gently on the door but Bucky didn't respond. So I pushed it open and peeked inside. He was lying on the futon, sweating, shirtless, and seemed to be at war with the sheets.

"Bucky," I said, stepping toward the futon. "Bucky, wake up. You're dreaming." I sat down on the mattress beside him and pressed my hand against his cheek.

He shot back to life in a split second. His metal hand wrapped around my wrist and yanked it tightly away from me, so that I flopped over his body. His teeth were gritted and his eyes were cold and unforgiving as he sat up. He was just like the Winter Soldier in my dream. He was breathing heavily and I cried out from the pain that cracked my wrist.

"Bucky!" I shouted. "You're hurting me! It's me! It's Jo! You were dreaming! Let me go! Please, don't hurt me?" And then his senses snapped back into place and he released my wrist. I sat back up and rubbed the pain from my bones.

"Jo," he said as if he'd forgotten where he was and who I was. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. You didn't mean it. It's fine." He reached out and pulled my hand away from where I was cradling it against my body.

"I didn't mean to."

"It's okay. It's my fault. I should have known better than to wake someone from a nightmare."

"I don't know if it was a nightmare or a memory." I let him rub his fingers over the red marks on my wrist and I looked up at his face.

"They're both. Usually. Sometimes just dreams. Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference." He sat still for a moment as he collected himself and his breathing went back to normal. I kept my eyes on where he was holding my hand much more gently and trying to rub the pain from my wrist.

"Will you tell me… what happened to you?" he asked quietly a moment later. He looked away from my wrist and down to where my bare shoulder was exposed and the scars from my wound were darkened even with the lack of light.

"I enlisted when I was eighteen," I told him. "Fresh out of high school. I guess I did it to prove to myself and my family that I was tough. They always thought I was... weak. My dad wanted sons. He got two daughters instead. I guess I didn't really prove them wrong. But I made it through basic training. I trained to be a medic. I was good. So good that special forces contacted me and shipped me out. It was actually a pretty easy job. For me at least. I got to help people and it made me happy. But then we got a mission to head out into enemy territory. All we had to do was guard the kids until the threat passed. I was just sent in as a precaution. Just in case anyone got injured."

"What went wrong?"

"It was a setup. They were waiting for us. They started shooting the second we got there. We couldn't fire back because they had the kids. It didn't matter. The kids got hurt anyway. And no matter what I did I couldn't bring myself to pull the trigger. I probably could have saved their lives if I had. I just couldn't do it. But then a little girl got shot and I tried to help her. The wound went right through her intestines. There was no exit. She was going to bleed out before I ever got her to safety. I did everything I could anyway. Until a grenade sent me flying twenty feet away. The first thing I saw when I came to was that little girl. She didn't survive the blast."

"And when you got shot?"

"He came around the corner. I'm pretty sure he'd been the one to throw the grenade. Trying to clear the area. He aimed his gun at me and I had mine aimed at him. But I couldn't do it. I hesitated just one second too long and he shot me. Hit me in the shoulder to get me down. In truth he'd probably saved my life by doing that. He could have shot me in the face."

He lifted his hand and ran his fingers over the scars. He was studying them and for a moment I was worried my story might trigger him. But he seemed more thoughtful than bothered. Then he looked back into my eyes and asked me the question I'd asked myself a million times.

"Why couldn't you shoot him?" I shook my head as his palm rested against my scar.

"I don't know. I've asked myself that same question. I've come up with a million different answers and none of them properly explain what I was feeling. I guess I was just afraid. I didn't want to kill anyone. And there was something my mom always said when I was growing up. She always said that it's not our job to decide who gets to live or die. I guess I just felt that it wasn't my place to take his life. I don't know why. Because if I had pulled that trigger more people might have lived."

"I think that shows bravery. Not cowardice," he said.

"How?" I questioned.

"You knew he would shoot you. And you still decided it wasn't your place to take his life. Do you know how hard that is for me? To suppress the urge to kill?" I shook my head and looked down at my lap.

"Why do you suppress it?"

"Because I know it's wrong."

"How?" I looked back up at him and he took a moment to answer.

"Something Steve said that night in the yard. Before you came."

"What did he say?"

"He said that… whenever I want to know the difference between what's right and what's wrong I have to think of you."

"Me?"

"He said to picture you in that situation. What if they took you and they took apart your head and took out everything that made you who you are and stuck something else in your place. And they sent you off to do their work without an explanation. I can tell the difference between right and wrong by imagining you in those situations. If I wouldn't want you there, or want you to get hurt... then it's wrong." I looked down at the sheets wrapped around his legs.

"That's what helps you? Me?"

"I told you that you helped me." I leaned against my hand, my wrist wasn't hurting anymore. Then I looked back up at him.

"Do you regret it?" I asked him. It took more bravery to ask that question than it did not to pull the trigger. "Do you regret what they made you do?"

"That's why I don't think I can ever be normal… like you want me to be. I don't think I deserve that kind of peace." My eyebrows furrowed and I looked down at the ridges on his metal arm.

"But you didn't mean it."

"Yes, I did. I was following orders. I followed them knowing I was taking lives."

"You didn't have a choice. They brainwashed you."

"Maybe the man who shot you didn't have a choice either." I pinched my eyes shut.

"It's different."

"How?"

"Because they made you that way, Bucky. They stripped you of everything. They turned you into nothing but a weapon and a machine. They filled your head with their lies and they wound you up like a little toy soldier and sent you off to kill in their name. The man who shot me knew what he was doing. If he's still alive right now he's going to wake up every morning knowing who he is and what his name is. He knows how he became what he is, and he's going to remember what he did to me and to everyone else he hurt. You… you were not a killer, James Barnes. You were an orphan from Brooklyn who befriended a stringy nerdy kid and joined the military to be a hero. You gave your life for your country. You didn't do it to kill anyone."

"How do you know?" I looked back up at him.

"Because I can see it. I can see it in you and the way Steve talks about you. You were a good person and a great man and they stole that from you. I want to help you get that back. Even if you think you don't deserve it."

"Why do you have so much faith in me?" he asked.

"Because I need to know that people can get better," I admitted. He shook his head slowly and quickly as if disagreeing with me.

"Not everyone is as strong as you."

"You think this is strength? You think I'm strong because I sat at a desk for five years and filed paper work. Because I bought a house and woke up every morning? You think that makes me strong? You think this is the life I wanted?"

"Then why do you do it?" I couldn't find an answer. I dropped my head and fought against the heat in my eyes that threatened to fill with tears.

"Because I'm not cut out for anything else," I finally whispered.

"Who says?" he asked.

I looked back up at him and I couldn't think of what to say. So I put my hand against his face and ran my thumb across his cheekbone. Then I reached over and pressed my lips against his. Maybe I just did it to shut him up. But it worked. The conversation ended the second my skin touched his.

It had probably been a great deal of time since the last time Bucky had kissed anyone. I found out from Steve that Bucky had been with a girl named Connie before he got shipped off to England. I assumed she was the girl he'd told me about when he said he asked her to wait for him. I also assumed that was the last time he'd truly been kissed by a girl.

Unless he'd had a fling while based in England, which according to Steve's description of him, was very likely.

However, with HYDRA it was unlikely Bucky ever did anything but kill and complete missions and then go back into cryo-sleep. Which meant I was probably the first girl he'd kissed in seventy years. And then of course, I remembered I was kissing a ninety-six year old man.

I almost pulled away, mostly because Bucky took a moment to react at all. But then right as I thought about pulling away and slapping myself in the face, he finally responded. His hand that had been on my shoulder went up into my hair and pulled my lips harder against his. I could feel his wrist brace rough against my skin. His metal hand went to the small of my back where he pulled me closer to his body. I found my hands on his shoulders, and then on his neck, and then in his hair.

And in seventy years of abstinence and memory loss, Bucky had not forgotten how to leave a girl breathless.

I hated the idea of it so much because more than anything I feared our attraction to each other was the result of some emotional imprinting, and thus wasn't real. I would be a liar if I said the attraction wasn't mutual. But I didn't want Bucky to feel that way for me for the wrong reasons. And I didn't want to return the affection simply because I was lonely and had a tendency to put myself in dangerous situations.

But if it was just loneliness then why didn't I feel that way for Steve? I always knew he was handsome and kind but I never thought about him that way. Was it because he hadn't shown an interest in me? Was it because of the girl in New York? I wasn't sure, but now that I knew him my affection was almost brotherly. So was my reason for kissing Bucky the same as my reason for doubting him? Was it because I saw myself in him or because I saw him as a charity case? Was I using this kiss as a reward for saying exactly what I wanted to hear? Or was it because I had been too emotionally moved to say another word? Or did I just want him to stop talking?

I couldn't be sure, but the kiss had grown far too quickly. His metal hand was cold on my back and I felt his fingers squeeze involuntarily. It made a thrill rush up my spine and I felt my fingers squeeze in his hair. But then the strap of my nightshirt snapped under the pressure of his grip and I gasped and pulled away.

"I'm so sorry," I said.

"For what?" he asked.

"I shouldn't have done that."

"I wasn't going to complain."

"I know but…" I pressed my palms against his bare chest and did everything I could to stop myself from running my hands all over him. "I don't think either of us is ready for this," I decided. And then I stood up and left the room.

* * *

I don't know what to say now. Smoochie smoochie.


	29. Chapter 29

I couldn't sleep for the rest of the night. I was stupid for kissing him. It was the worst thing I could have done. I told him nothing could come from this. I told him there was no relationship between us, and then I'd gone and smashed my face into his lips like a lust driven animal.

To be fair, it was probably a lot like that. I hadn't had sex in… well a really long time. And Bucky was attractive and I was human and the man had said exactly the right thing at exactly the right time.

So I laid there in my bed clutching my pillow and wearing a half broken shirt. I was frustrated, angry with myself, and I couldn't sleep if I was dead. Luckily I didn't hear any more noises from Bucky's room and I sincerely hoped that he hadn't snuck away again. Although, I wouldn't blame him if he did. But he promised to stay the weekend and I was going to see it through. It was still my job to make sure that he was okay. People were depending on me. Most importantly, Bucky was depending on me. And I didn't want to be ruined because I'd stuck my tongue down his throat.

The morning came as a relief. I hadn't gotten a full night's sleep and when I did sleep, it had been very brief and thankfully dreamless. I got out of bed as soon as I saw the sun on the horizon beyond the trees, and then I jumped in the shower to cool my head and try to gain focus of my ultimate goal. The problem was that I didn't know what my goal was. It was exactly as Clara said, this wasn't likely to last.

When I was done I toweled myself off and dressed in my weekend clothes. Then I stepped down the hall to knock on the guest room door.

"Bucky?" I asked.

"Yes?" his voice responded. Then I sighed in relief. He hadn't snuck out on me after all.

"Can I come in?"

"Yes."

I pushed the door open and found him sitting on the edge of the futon. He still wasn't wearing a shirt and his hair was down and messy and falling in his face. I instantly regretted my decision to come in.

"Um…" I said as I rubbed my sore wrist. "I was thinking we could make breakfast. Normally I just have cereal, but I also don't usually have guests. Steve hardly ever stayed for breakfast. So I thought we could make waffles. I can show you how to use the waffle iron. I'm sure that's not a vital thing you need to learn. But my mom got it for me for my birthday."

I was rambling and he knew that. He looked up at me and his eyes immediately zeroed in on my hand. Then he stood up and came to stand just before me. He took my hand into his right one and examined the marks.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

"Just a little sore," I admitted. "I'll be fine. Why don't you… take a shower and all that stuff? Steve left you some of his things. They're in the bathroom already. I'll just meet you downstairs when you're ready." He gave a quick nod and I hurried back to my bedroom.

While Bucky was showering I blew my hair dry and got ready for the day. I waited for him to leave the bathroom before I left my room. Just in case he was naked again. Luckily he wasn't, and he was fully dressed in Steve's clothes again. I smiled at him when we met in the hallway.

"So, waffles then?" I asked. He nodded and gave his almost smile.

"Waffles," he agreed.

I led him back down to the kitchen and set up the waffle iron. I showed him how to mix the batter and then we teamed up to use the iron. Within a few minutes we had made a massive mess but he was almost smiling and that was all that mattered to me.

He seemed to really enjoy breakfast. To be honest he just seemed to enjoy food. More specifically, he enjoyed sweet food. He put away far more waffles than I could make and I tried to remind myself to remember so I could spoil him when I went grocery shopping.

Once we finished cleaning I convinced him to get into the car and drive with me for errands. I was mostly just afraid that he would sneak away if I left him at home alone. But he agreed to come, although he flat out refused to leave the car. So I quickly made my way into a clothing store, bought him a few basic shirts and things he would need. Then I rushed back out to the car to find him sitting in the passenger seat with his hood up and looking extremely uncomfortable in the growing heat. Luckily the windows were tinted and the air conditioner worked.

"I got you a few things you might need," I told him as I turned to put the bag in the backseat. He was looking out the windows, watching people.

"Okay," he replied.

"Alright. Groceries now. I know you don't want to get out of the car but I also don't know what kind of stuff you like."

"I don't have a preference."

"You seem to like waffles." I saw him give his almost smile as he gazed out the window.

"I like waffles," he agreed. "And pizza." I laughed and put the car in gear.

"Everyone likes pizza," I reminded him.

I ended up choosing the most secluded mini-market I could think of. It was on a less crowded street with a lot of shade and trees. I didn't think he was all that comfortable sitting in the car out front of a department store. But I figured the smaller store might make the trip quicker, so he wouldn't have to wait too long.

I put the air conditioner on and left the radio on to drown out the silence and then I headed into the store. I made a quick trip through the aisles, picking as many sweets as I could without going over my budget. I wasn't exactly an expert on dinners so I grabbed a few more easy things and frozen stuff I figured he might like.

When I was done I went back to the car across the street and began putting the bags into the trunk. I had to leave some on the curb so I didn't drop them, and when I went to reach for a carton of milk I found a gloved hand already lifting it for me. I looked up and he was standing on the sidewalk with his hood up. I smiled, thankful that he'd finally gotten out of the car. Though I didn't blame him for wanting to hide. I couldn't be sure if we were being watched.

I reached for the milk and he lifted it to hand it over, but it slipped out of his hand and went crashing to the pavement, splattering milk all over us. I watched as he flexed his gloved fingers as if his hand was bothering him again.

"I'm sorry," he said as he stared down at his fingers.

"It's okay," I replied. I reached for what was left of the carton and stuck it in the trunk with the last bag.

I considered going back for more milk but I wanted to talk to Bucky about his arm and most of it was salvaged anyway. So I closed the trunk and nodded for him to follow me to the car. He was quiet as we got seated.

"So what's going on with your arm?" I asked. I watched him stretch it out and move his fingers a few times.

"It hasn't been working the same," he explained.

"Why didn't you tell me you were having problems?"

"It's getting worse. I don't know how to maintain it. Sometimes I lose my grip. I can't hold onto things. I didn't say anything because I haven't used it much." I cleared my throat. I didn't want to be rude, but that wasn't entirely true.

"It seemed to work just fine last night. And that time in the kitchen," I reminded him. His eyes flashed and narrowed dangerously. But he suppressed whatever emotion he was dealing with and stared down at me.

"If it was working just fine I would have snapped your bones," he said slowly.

"I thought you were just being gentle."

"It wasn't made to be gentle. I don't know how to be gentle." I nodded and pressed my finger against the keypad to start the engine.

"I know someone who can fix it. I can call him if you'd like."

"Who?"

"Tony Stark."

"I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Why not?" I asked as I pulled out onto the street.

"Because I know what I did to his family." I slammed onto the breaks and made the car jerk violently. I had my arm over the back of the seat so I could see out the back window, but I focused on him now.

"You remember it?" He looked over at me and I could see the answer on his face.

"I found my files. I didn't know their names. But I'm not just remembering Bucky's life, Jo." I sighed heavily and pulled back out onto the road.

"Well, that's something we're going to have to keep from Tony then, okay?"

"Probably a good idea."

"Let's get these groceries home before the ice cream melts."

* * *

And THAT'S why Bucky dropped the plate in the earlier chapter. He wasn't afraid of Jo reprimanding him. He wasn't ready to tell her that his arm wasn't working properly. He didn't trust her enough then.

And that was another point that I wanted to make. Bucky's mind isn't blank. He's not just remembering his life 70 years ago. He's remembering everything that HYDRA did to him when he was awake too. His mind is scattered, because he's starting to piece things together.


	30. Chapter 30

Even though I already knew that Bucky had a hand in the assassination of the Stark's, it was difficult for me to think about as I watched him mow my lawn. It wasn't that I blamed him for what happened. I knew that he hadn't been in his right mind when they were killed, but I also knew this could cause a lot of problems for… well everyone. My parents worshiped the Stark family, my sister, despite what she said, was madly in love with Tony. And Tony, despite what he said, was equally in love with her. I couldn't imagine what would happen if I told one of the most dangerous men in the world that another one of the most dangerous men in the world had killed his parents.

Howard Stark had saved my grandparents' lives. If he hadn't of gone into that alley that night, I might not have existed at all. And if I didn't come into existence then I wouldn't be there for Bucky. It was a big complicated mess. And all I could do was pray that Tony never found out the truth. But Tony was good at finding information that was kept from him. Especially if it now pertained to him. And I was certain he was gathering as much information on Bucky as he could now that his girlfriend's little sister was involved.

Bucky's hair was pulled back up out of his face again. I thought about taking him to get it cut so that he would look less like the Winter Soldier and more like Sergeant James Barnes, or even just a normal guy who happened to always be wearing a glove. But I couldn't bring myself to ask him about it. I liked his hair too much. It was selfish of me, I know. But I figured we could talk about it if the situation got worse.

I had already mowed the front lawn and I decided to make him do the back. The backyard was smaller and it was too hot for him to be wearing his hoodie and gloves. So I gave him the backyard so he could have his arm exposed and not have to worry about my neighbor's calling the cops over a guy mowing the lawn with a robotic limb.

He was wearing a tank-top and sweatpants that I had picked up for him while we were out. And if it wasn't for the fact that his arm was reflecting sunlight and had a big Soviet star on the side, he would have looked like an average guy. An average guy who didn't seem to know how to use a modern gas powered lawn mower.

It didn't require that much of a push but he stopped on occasion to shake out his metal hand. It seemed to be bothering him even more than the one that had been broken. He swore it was completely healed, but the doctor in me wanted him to wait. It was clear now that he used his right hand as his dominant hand, even when it was broken. He used it to help me put dishes away. He used it to eat. He used it to touch me. He used his left hand when he needed a weapon. The only time I'd ever seen it in action was when he had shoved me against the counter, when I'd woken him from a nightmare, and when he was helping put dishes away or carry a carton of milk. Maybe I had been too distracted by his broken wrist to realize something was wrong with the other one. I could mend flesh and bone; I couldn't mend metal and machinery.

Then I thought about what he'd told me that night after he came back the first time. He said he meant to hurt me. Which meant, if he had full control over that arm, he very well could have snapped my collarbone. Which meant, when I had woken him up from his nightmare the night before, he very well could have crushed my wrist into a hundred little shards of bone.

Maybe I was lucky that his arm wasn't working properly. But I actually found it a little bit bothersome. It wasn't that I wanted him to hurt me. It was just that all along I had attributed his lack of any real damage to his desire to be a good person. In truth it was just because the damn thing was broken. Which meant he had never intended to be gentle with me at all. And those kids that had made the mistake of trying to mug him that night? They'd probably be dead.

Even though he was struggling to push the mower, I let him continue. I could have got up and helped him or I could have taken it away and did it myself, but he seemed determined to get it where he wanted. And he kept muttering to himself. I thought the muttering was healthy. It meant his brain was focused on the task and not whatever else his memories were churning up in there. The Winter Soldier had been a silent killer. He'd worn a restricting muzzle and never made a sound until he'd been under emotional distress. Bucky Barnes was pushing a mower across my backyard in sweatpants complaining about the heat and the machine not working.

That had to mean progress, right?

I knew Tony could probably very easily get his arm running properly again. In fact, he probably could have improved it. He could make it so that Bucky had more control. He could make it less dangerous. Maybe even less easy to spot. But I couldn't risk Tony finding out about Bucky's involvement in the death of his parents. The man acted like nothing in the world could bother him, but I had seen his face at Thanksgiving when he'd come to Ohio for dinner and my dad mentioned how much Howard meant to our family. Tony didn't like talking about him, and I didn't want to be there when he finally got that information.

Eventually he managed to get the rest of the lawn halfway decent. I decided not to be too meticulous about it because I never did it anyway. I just thought it might be good for him to do something normal and "domesticated." So he could get an understanding about civilian life. Even if that would never be an option for him to follow.

The rest of our day really only included junk food and family friendly television. Clara and I were both avid Tvland fans. And so I turned on some reruns of The Andy Griffith Show and we sat down on the couch to watch with a bowl of popcorn and bag of candy. Though I think Bucky felt anxious and entirely out of place.

"This is a really good episode," I told him as I scooped a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the coffee table in front of us.

"I've never seen it," he said.

"Well, it's good. I mean… this is the episode where Andy learns not to be sexist. It's ahead of its time. It's my sister's favorite episode."

"What's your favorite episode?" I chewed on my popcorn and thought it over.

"My favorite episode is the one where Opie accidentally kills the bird."

"Why?" he asked me.

"It makes me cry."

"You like things that make you cry?" I chewed a bit more and then wiped the salt from my hands onto my jeans.

"No, I just like things that make me feel."

"Is that why you kissed me?" Then I choked on a popcorn kernel and leaned forward to get it out of my throat and to buy time to find an answer. And then I still couldn't find one so I sat there for a minute watching Andy get his ass handed to him by a girl with a gun, so he could learn his lesson about equality.

"Yeah," I finally said. "That's why I kissed you."

"What did you feel?" he asked.

"You ask a lot of difficult questions." I rubbed my eyes. I really didn't want to answer him.

"I was just curious." I sighed heavily and inwardly groaned.

"It made me feel… a lot things."

"Then how can you say it's not real?" I blew out heavily from my mouth and focused on the TV.

"I can't say it's not real," I admitted. "If I feel it then it must be real, right? I just don't know if it's a good idea. Because there's so much that we have to do before we can get involved in something like this."

"You said yourself that it might take years for me to be human again. The world isn't going to forgive me for what I've done. I'm never going to have a normal life, Jo."

"It's not about being human. It's about it being so soon. You need time to heal and regain yourself before you can…"

"Before I can what? Have feelings for the only person that makes me feel human?" I turned toward him and crossed my legs on the couch so that I could face him. He seemed comfortable in my living room. His metal arm was draped over the cushion. His right arm was stretched across the back. Stubble was growing on his chin again.

"What if that's just it, Bucky? What if that's the only reason you feel anything for me and me for you? Like when… ducks imprint on the first person they see. What if that's all this is?"

"Why does it have to fit a certain criteria to be real?"

"Because I know what it's like when you find out something isn't what you thought it was. I know how much it hurts because you were so eager to push something you weren't ready for. Like when you have a really good dream and you wake up and realize none of it really happened. Or maybe it just doesn't happen the way you thought it would."

"All of my good dreams are about you." I sighed heavily and looked down at my bare feet as I tucked them under my legs.

"I just feel like a bad person," I admitted.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because you've gone through something traumatic and horrible and I know that you're really trying hard, but you're not there yet. And I don't want you to relapse because of me."

"You're the only reason I'm here. I've made progress because of you. I don't want to disappoint you. Being around you… feeling comfortable around you, helped me relax enough to gain some of myself back. I know that I'm not done and I probably never will be. But you're the only person who makes me feel like it's a possibility." I glanced up at him and he was already looking down at me. "You make me want to be human again." I smiled. "You make me feel human. And I don't want to push you if you think this isn't the right time. But I've lived too long and I know better than anyone how valuable the truth is when you might not have long enough to speak it." I took a deep breath.

"I understand. And… I do have feelings for you. Like that," I admitted. "And I feel rotten for feeling that way because I feel like there's so much more you need to do before you're ready for that. And I don't… I don't know if I'm ready to give up my life just yet."

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Jo."

I gave him another smile and put my hand on his cheek to pull him closer. I kissed him softly at first and then I felt his hand at the back of my head as he drew me close. But I pulled away and ran my fingers down his chest. Then I turned back around to face the TV and we didn't say another word.

* * *

Sorry for taking so long! A friend of mine came over and then we proceeded to power marathon Bob Ross videos. So have more smoochie smoochies and squishy squishies.

And in case anyone is wondering, the bird episode of the Andy Griffith show does make me cry every time. But my favorite is the one she said was Clara's favorite. Where the girl Andy likes challenges him to a gun shooting competition and he tells her to "stand back" because he doesn't want her to "hurt her pretty little self." And she kicks his ass and it's GREAT. There's also another great episode where the girl pharmacist decides to run for city counsel and all the men are having a fit about it but all the women are backing her. And Andy's being a dick and he's like "Girls are supposed to think about shopping and blah blah." And she's like "Nah son. Fuck off." And it's just... quality television. Way ahead of it's time. I love Tvland, I'm sorry.


	31. Chapter 31

That night it was difficult for me to get to sleep even though I was exhausted. I laid there for a long time staring at my ceiling and thinking about the raccoon in my attic. Then when I wasn't thinking about the raccoon I was thinking about Steve, Bucky, Tony, and Clara, and everyone else whose lives I felt somewhat responsible for.

When I finally did fall asleep it didn't last very long. The slightest noise woke me and sometimes even when there weren't any noises, my mind forced me to wake up anyway. And then I would lie there again for a long time until sleep took hold again.

I didn't fall into a deep sleep until the early morning. And when I finally did slip into unconsciousness I found myself flat on my back on a bed of crumbled brick, staring up at smoke on an otherwise clear blue sky.

The ringing in my ears was fading but the pain on my shoulder seemed to keep growing. I could feel the warmth of blood as it spread beneath me. I groaned and rolled to my side in an attempt to get up. I could hear shouting and gunshots over the noise. And a moment later I saw a soldier drop to the ground several yards from me. I could hear the sounds of his screams under the ringing and thumping of my heart, and so I struggled to get back to my feet so I could reach him.

My legs weren't strong enough to carry my body and I didn't want to stand and put myself in an even worse position. So I did a half crawl through the debris as I cradled my arm against my body. I wanted to reach him before the wound on his thigh bled out. He finally spotted me and I recognized him even though I had never met him. His name was Colonel Talbot. From what I understood he was a decent man. He followed us into this mission even though he very well could have stayed back at camp by the cool air fan.

I couldn't let him die, but my struggle to reach him was taking too long. They were going to get to him before I could. I was bleeding and I could already feel my mind slip from blood loss.  
I was almost to him when a grenade rolled into view. Talbot and I both froze. And then he changed his tactic. Instead of his yells of pain he began to frantically shout in my direction. I couldn't make out what he was saying, but it was clear from his hand movements that he wanted me to leave. To leave him to die with that grenade.

I decided to change direction. I was close enough so that I could get away if I followed his orders, but I didn't. I went for the grenade and just hoped that I had enough time to throw it before it could go off. I could hear him screaming at me as I reached for it. The metal was cold and heavy against my fingers as I lifted it like a baseball. The men who'd thrown it were on the other side of the court, yelling, waving weapons that appeared to be out of ammo.

The throw sent pain rocking through my body, but I gave it my best shot. They always said I was a good throw. My high school PE teacher had wanted me to play softball, my dad didn't allow it. I watched the grenade fly across the courtyard for only a few seconds before it ignited. It burst open in the air like a firecracker and sprayed everyone in the area with chunks of broken metal and a rain of fire.

Aside from a few burns, Talbot and I were mostly unharmed. The group of men had been hiding in an alley and shielding themselves behind the building. But the grenade took out half the deck and I watched as the building crumbled and poured an avalanche of concrete and plaster down on top of them.

Talbot was still lying where I'd left him, now with a few extra burns on the exposed parts of his skin. I made back in his direction and within a minute I was with him. I could hear him yelling at me as I scooted toward him. I didn't have my medi-pack anymore but I reached for the wound on his thigh. He shoved my hands away and continued shouting. I slapped him away. And then I stuck my fingers in the hole in his pants and ripped them open. I yelped from the pain it caused my shoulder, but I quickly bit my lip and examined the wound.

"I have to stop the bleeding," I told him even though I couldn't hear him. He was still yelling, wanting me to find cover. But I decided to use my damaged ear drum as my excuse for not following his orders. "Your femoral artery might be damaged. I'm going to have to check." I looked up at his face. He was still looking at me with both disbelief, shock, and maybe also frustration and pain. "Bite something," I told him.

And then I turned back to the wound and dug my fingers in. His screaming was louder than the ringing. I felt his body tense and he fought the urge to throw me away from him. I knew it wasn't the safest environment to perform any kind of surgeries but I needed to be sure the vital artery wasn't punctured. I would worry about infection later.

That was the worst part about those dream realities. It was exactly what I'd told Bucky just the night before. Sometimes they were dreams and sometimes they were memories. But they were worse than memories because they came at you unexpectedly. And instead of just the dull fuzzy way you remember a previous event, I was hyper aware of every sensation.

I could feel the heat from the sun in the sky, the sweat that dripped from my helmet and down my neck, the feel of warm blood beneath my hands, an artery slipping between my fingers. Gunshots ricocheted off of bricks, burns prickled at my skin, I could feel blood slide out of my ear, and worst of all I could still hear the sound of screams under that persistent ringing that just wouldn't stop.

It was Bucky that saved me from the dream. The ringing was so loud I could barely hear at all. But through it all I heard my name, even though I couldn't place the location. I could still hear Talbot's screaming in my ear, that ringing, and the gunfire. And then in an instant the blinding sun was gone and I was in a darkened room. He was sitting on my bed hovering over me with his hands on my shoulders.

"Johanna," he was saying. I blinked a few times before focusing on his concerned expression. Then I reached out and pressed my palm against his face, finally realizing that I was home.

"Bucky," I replied.

"You were dreaming," he told me.

"I'm sorry."

"Why?" I wasn't expecting that question.

"Because I didn't want you to see me like that."

He nodded slowly and licked his lips. He was hovering over me and I had fought with the blankets and sheets enough so that they spilled onto the floor and barely covered me. I could feel the warmth of his body against mine. It was the only warmth in the chill of my bedroom. His arms had me pinned to his body like a cage, though it was comforting.

"I understand that feeling," he finally said. "But at least you didn't try to kill me."

I closed my eyes and took a moment to let the dream fade from my memory. Bucky stayed where he was, though he leaned his hand against the mattress. My heartbeat slowly began to return to a safe level and I opened my eyes again to find him still watching me.

When he had showed up in my kitchen that first night, he had been so dark and shady. He hid beneath a hood and baseball cap. Now he seemed so normal. Like a normal guy. Of course the arm threw off the look, but the rest of him was so average. And it was the expression, not everything else, that made him seem so calm. Like he could smile at any second. Like he wasn't suffering.

Bucky waited patiently for me to collect my thoughts. I thought about what Clara had told me on the phone. What did I really expect to come of this? Bucky could never have a normal life. Everyone thought so. Even he did. He would always be on the run from someone. Whether it was HYDRA or the government. They would never forgive him, no matter who his friends were or what he did to prove his innocence.

So I traced my thumb over his cheekbone and let out a sigh.

"Bucky," I said quietly as I ran my hand back down over his shoulder and onto my chest. "What do you think is going to happen? With us?" His eyebrows creased in question.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"You said that… you don't think you can have a normal life. Is that even something you want?"

"You won't like my answer, and a normal life isn't possible for people like us. Even if we wanted it."

"Like us?"

"I don't think you're meant for this life either," he said. "Not the way you've been living." I couldn't figure out what he meant by that. It wasn't the first time I'd heard it. But what other choice did I have? I couldn't go back to the army. I didn't want to go work for Stark. There was no other option for me but boring normalcy.

I reached my hand out and grasped his metal wrist. I didn't know if he could feel me since he seemed to pay no attention to my movement. But he was quick to notice things, so he had to have seen it.

"Why do you think that?" I asked him.

"Because I can see how unhappy you are. And you were meant to do good things. Like Steve." My eyes widened in surprise.

"Like… a superhero?" His lips almost smiled.

"Maybe. If that's the life you wanted. But you were meant to help people. Not file paperwork or serve food. You were meant for bigger things."

"Then no matter what happens… this can't last between us?" He looked up at my iron headboard for a moment. He was still hovering over me but neither of us seemed uncomfortable with the position.

Sometimes, even though Steve's presence was comforting, I could tell that he didn't want to be there. It wasn't me he wanted to lie next to and I was always afraid to touch him, lest I overstep my boundaries. Aside from the nights where I had terrible dreams and he let me lie against him, he hardly ever touched me at all.

Bucky seemed comfortable in my bed. He seemed comfortable with our closeness to one another. And I knew he felt something for me since he had admitted it. But it was clear that I was the one he wanted to lie next to. And I really liked that, because as strange as it may seem, he was the one I wanted to lie next to me.

He finally looked back down at me and I could see the answer to my question before he even put it into words.

"No," he said softly. "I don't think it will last. HYDRA has already come after you once. They may not have tried to kill you but there's a reason for that. It was a message and it meant they're coming. There's no way to hide from them." I felt my grip on his arm tighten.

"I don't want them to take you," I admitted.

"I won't go down without a fight."

"What if they do get you, though? What if fighting isn't enough?"

"I don't know," he said softly. "Then I guess I'll just have to do what I can to hold onto the memories that I've gotten back. And the ones I've made here."

"Do you think your memories are strong enough to fight it?" He took a moment to answer as he looked around the room.

"This one might be," he finally decided. I moved my hand back up onto his shoulder where his skin met the metal.

"Steve was right about you," I said with a laugh. His eyebrows rose but his lips hinted at that smile that was still just out of my reach.

"What did he say?"

"He said you were smooth with the ladies." Then he laughed. It was short and quick and soft. But it was real. The kind of laugh you share with friends and people you love. It was exactly the kind of laugh that was meant for people lying in bed.

But what Clara said was still bouncing around my brain. I attributed her negative comment to her own pessimism, but Clara had never been known for being pessimistic. She didn't believe in letting things come to her. Clara paved her own way and carved out her own destiny. Yeah, she kind of landed in the lap of Iron Man and that was a crazy happenstance. But she had worked her ass off for him for six months before that had happened. And to be honest I just felt like Tony needed someone like Clara in his life. She was someone who wouldn't put up with his bullshit. She kept him in line. And she loved him anyway.

But Clara never got too comfortable with where she was. She never sat back and sighed a breath of relief and said, "We made it." Because I had been wrong about her all along. Clara was in New York when the Chitauri attacked. Clara knew better than anyone that you can't stand still for too long because life always had a way of shaking things up. Clara lived her life day by day. The only evidence that she thought about the future at all was her 401k.

My life had been completely average for over five years now. Aside from the constant struggle to regain control of my sense of self, nothing had shaken anything up. At least until the disaster with HYDRA. That had certainly shaken a few things. Bucky's arrive had done the same. But everything had been too easy. I got out of the HYDRA disaster a lot easier than most of SHIELD. Bucky and I had fun. We didn't do anything too crazy. He responded well and everything was going just fine. And it wasn't that I was pessimistic and believed that it would end soon. It was just that… they were right. He wasn't cut out for this life. Maybe I wasn't either.

I couldn't say that I would ever be like Steve or Romanoff. But I had been so miserable because I couldn't be me. It was exactly what Sam said. Some people thrive in different environments. I wasn't happy when my heart was pounding and I didn't know what the next day would bring, but I was alive. This, whatever I was doing, it wasn't living.

I wasn't happy until I had a purpose. I knew this was just a passing train and even if I spent the rest of my life with him, this moment wouldn't last. The peace was going to end eventually. And I would finally have to face the fact that I was going to lose my house and my life would change. I could go work for Tony or I could carve my own destiny and be the person I was meant to be.

So I decided to take a lesson from my sister. She said when she and Tony got together she never expected it to last more than one night. All she knew was that she had just gone through something horrific, and so had he and they wanted each other right at that moment, and that was all she cared about. She didn't want to worry about the future. She didn't even know if she would stay for breakfast the next morning. She just saw something she wanted and she took it.

Bucky was still caught in a half smile and my hand was still resting on his shoulder. So I moved my hand up onto his cheek and pulled his face down closer to mine. He pressed his lips against mine as if he had known I would do that all along.

"Stop with the smooth words," I whispered against his lips.

"Why? It worked," he replied.

"Shut up." Then I kissed him harder.

His mouth was rough against mine, and just like you'd expect from someone who hadn't kissed in a long time. But he was still careful and he was warming up to the idea quickly. The night before I had been so blinded by whatever I was feeling, that I hadn't noticed how slow and cautious he was with me. He was trying to be gentle, despite what he said.

I didn't want him to feel cautious. Of course I didn't want him to hurt me either, and I knew he had a difficult time adjusting to his own strength. But I trusted that he wouldn't hurt me. I wanted him to be the Bucky that Steve said the girls always chased after. I knew he couldn't be as cool and confident as he had been, but I wanted to see him smile again. I wanted to see his flirtatious nature.

So I pulled him down and he stumbled onto me. I realized that it was his trouble with his arms and not me, but I apologized anyway.

"Sorry," I whispered.

"It's okay," he said as he ripped the wrist brace off of his right arm and tossed it onto the floor. Then his metal hand gripped my shoulder and he leaned against the other one.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" I asked him as I moved a long strand of hair out of his face.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"I won't let you."

I kissed him again, harder this time, and after a moment he seemed to be catching onto what I was really asking from him. Either his memories were coming back or it was just instinct. But his fingers twisted in my hair and I casually adjusted my legs to center him between them. That was when he seemed to realize that I intended for more than just a kiss.

But then he pulled away as if to speak but caught himself. He hesitated and I leaned against my elbows. He sat up and away from me. I sat up to face him and stood on my knees. I rested my hands on his shoulders.

"What's wrong?" I asked. He kept his blue eyes on mine and they seemed so much more alive than they had when we first met.

"How do you know this is real?" he replied.

I moved my hands up to his face and sat down on his legs. His arms wrapped around my body, tightly, but not enough to hurt me. I ran my fingers over his cheeks, barely skimming his skin. Then I reached for his right hand and released it from his grip on me. I brought it around to my front and pressed it against my chest. I felt his fingers relax against me. Then I reached out and pressed one of my hands on his chest, feeling his heart beat beneath his ribs.

"Can you feel that?" I asked him quietly. He looked down and I felt him flex his metal fingers against my back.

"It's beating fast," he said. "Are you scared?" His eyes flashed to mine again and I gave a short laugh as I shook my head.

"No, I'm not scared," I told him. "Yours is beating as fast as mine. Are YOU scared?" He stretched his fingers, grazing his thumb beneath the hem of my shirt and pressing his palm flatter against my chest. Then his eyes met mine again.

"No. I'm not scared."

"That's how you know it's real then," I whispered.

"But you said… before." I shook my head again and cut him off.

"I'm just… worried about you. About what's going to happen. And I have this habit of lying to myself. Someone told me that it's how I feed my guilt."

"Why would you feel guilty for this?" he asked. I looked back up at him and pressed my hand against his cheek. I could see it clearly on his face now. Everything that Steve had said. Even Sam. They were right. He did look at me differently. I knew I had seen it and I had forced myself not to notice. I had just hoped it would go away and never become a problem. But it didn't go away, and now I didn't want it to.

"Because… it's like you said. Someday this is going to end. And I don't want it to be because of me."

He moved his hand up away from my heart and onto the crook of my neck. I closed my eyes because he was being so gentle. This man who had been made to kill and cause pain. I could see that man fading away. If he could be this gentle and this wonderful, then why couldn't I? Because I was a liar. Even if it was just to myself.

"You're the only reason I'm here," he said. "It won't be your fault. This is the closest to… real anything… that I can remember." He moved his hand back down over my heart and focused his attention on that. I could still feel it beating. "So when it ends… I'll do whatever I can to get it back. Even if I have to fight… forever."

He looked back up at me and I reached forward and pressed my lips against his. It was the closest thing to love I had ever heard from another person. I had heard those words before, "I love you," but they had never meant anything. Not to me and not to the speaker. I knew it was too soon to love Bucky because I hadn't even known him for a full month, but it was as real as my heartbeat.

His hand wrapped around my waist again and pulled me against him. I could feel his heart beating against my chest and I hoped that he could feel mine.

"Do you promise?" I whispered against his lips.

"Yes," he replied, and this time he kissed me.

* * *

So my excuse for not updating sooner today was because this was the fluffy snoo snoo chapter. I'm usually always really hesitant to update with these chapters because I don't know. They make me feel weird? Like... In the old days I used to be able to write the smuttiest of smutty chapters. But now I'm like "Oh my characters are doing the do. We're gonna skip that and move right along to the next chapter." And I have no idea WHY this happened. Because I love a good smut chapter. And I actually wanted to challenge myself with this story and make this chapter happen. But when it came down to it, I felt like it was better left the way it is here. There really doesn't need to be any detail involved. They're kind of going through a lot of stuff, and in my universe Bucky has not had sex in 70 years. So I didn't want to elaborate on some shit. Just know that it was gosh diddly darn awesome.

Also, for those of you who do not know, Colonel Talbot of US Special Forces is a real Marvel character. He is from The Hulk actually. I don't know if he's in the movie because I have not seen the most recent one with Edward Norton? HOWEVER! He was neither a hero or a villain. He was in love with Betty and hated Bruce because of her love for him.

So random Marvel lesson for you there.


	32. Chapter 32

The next morning I woke up to sunlight filtering through the thick trees in my backyard. It was a breezy morning and the trees were waving quietly, leaving dancing shadows on my walls. I could still feel Bucky's metal arm around me. It was heavy against my body.

I moved to roll over so that I could face him and he reacted instantly. His arm shifted so that it wasn't so heavy against me and I could move more freely. I rolled onto my side and looked up at the sleepy man lying on my extra pillow.

He looked happy. For the first time since I'd met him he seemed completely and totally happy. I could see the light in his blue eyes. They were sleepy but relaxed. The corners of his lips were hinting at the almost smile, but it wasn't strained. It was like he was preparing himself for a smile. Like he already knew it was going to happen. His body was relaxed and it actually seemed like he might have gotten some real sleep. Dreamless sleep.

I leaned over and kissed him softly. His metal fingers gripped my shoulder, but not enough to cause me any pain.

"Do you believe that it's real now?" I asked him as I rested my head back on the pillow. The smile appeared.

"It was always real for me," he replied as he pressed his hand against my chest, feeling for my heartbeat again.

"You're so cheesy." His smile was crooked, as if he found my words amusing.

"Do they not like cheesy in this century?" I laughed.

"I kind of like it. But that's between me and you."

I leaned onto him and rested my head against his chest. I wrapped my arm around him and he stayed gentle with his metal arm over mine. I laid like that for a second, just listening to the sound of his heartbeat. It had been a long time since I'd heard another heartbeat. The sound comforted me. It reminded me that he was real. He was a real person. A human being with a heart and a mind and no matter what happened, as long as that heart kept beating I would do whatever I could to keep him safe.

"Are you hungry?" I asked him.

"No," he replied.

"Are you just saying that because you don't want to get out of bed?" I felt his cold metal fingers over my back.

"I might be," he said. I looked up at him and smiled.

"I'll make you breakfast. I'm not very good at it."

"Waffles again?" I laughed. "I think they're my favorite."

"I think you have a sweet tooth. But we can make waffles if you want."

"I do."

I pulled away from him and slid out from under his arm. Then I went to pull some clothes on. I settled on a plain t-shirt and jeans. Bucky put on the clothes he'd been wearing the night before. Just a black tank-top and sweatpants. My phone began to ring as he pulled his hair back up out of his face and secured it with a hair-tie. I reached for it and felt my heart jump.

It was Tony.

I had forgotten about his "bugs." Which meant he was probably calling to make fun of me. JARVIS had probably alerted him to my rise in body temperature and heart rate. However, he hadn't called the night before when we fell asleep in each other's arms. So that meant he knew neither of us had been in any trouble. So that meant he knew we'd had sex.

I pressed accept and brought the phone to my ear. Then I motioned for Bucky to follow me into the hall.

"I swear to God, if I hear one Winter is Coming joke I'm going to stab you," I told Tony.

"That's a good one. But that's not why I'm calling." his voice said. "Is there supposed to be another person in the house? I'm getting three signatures." And I felt a cold chill creep over me.

Tony wasn't using his playful tone. This was serious Tony. This was the guy who flew around in a metal suit and put himself in danger just to save others. Not the guy who threw parties and imitated Marilyn Monroe. I put my hand up on Bucky's chest to freeze him into place.

"What?" I asked.

"I'm guessing by your tone that you were unaware you had company. Steve is on his way," he told me.

"You don't mean me and Bucky?"

"I wish that I did. Get out now."

"Stay on the line."

"I am." I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked up at Bucky's concerned expression.

"We're not alone," I told him.

His body went tense and his eyes hardened. The Bucky who had lain in my bed sleepy and half smiling was gone, and for a moment I worried that I might never get him back. I didn't want him to cross back over that line. But he was right, we were going to have to face it eventually.

"I'll go first," he said, and then he headed for the staircase. I hurried after him.

"Bucky, don't. We need to get out of here." He turned back around to face me.

"There's no getting out now, Jo."

He slid out of my grasp and headed down the stairs. His shoulders were straight and he walked like he was ready for a fight. I was just glad that he could still distinguish between me and whatever mental mission he was giving himself. I followed after him, still clutching my phone in my hand.

"Jo! Johanna!" I could hear Tony saying from the speaker, but I didn't want to answer just yet. Bucky made it to the bottom of the stairs, surveyed the living room and then turned toward the kitchen. I reached the bottom step and clutched the banister as I watched him enter the hallway. "Johanna!" I froze in place when I heard the unmistakable click of a bullet entering a chamber. "Jo?" I heard Tony asking, but I couldn't answer now. Even if I wanted to.

"Put the phone down," I heard a voice say. I shivered and pinched my eyes shut. I knew that voice. I was just hoping I would never have to hear it again. I stuck my hand out to my side and dropped the phone to the floor. It bounced against the bare wood and the glass went clear. "Turn around." I turned around to face him.

"Oscar," I said in greeting. The gun was now aimed at the center of my forehead. There was an inch of space between me and the weapon, but I could feel its phantom touch. I put my hands up to my sides in a show of surrender.

He was dressed in all black and had his eyes on me, though Bucky was the only threat I was truly concerned about. I wasn't afraid of him getting hurt, that is. Just that I was surprised he hadn't attacked yet. I couldn't hear him moving through my house. But then I remembered he only made noise when he wanted me to hear him.

"How's HYDRA?" I asked my ex-boyfriend.

"You know what they say, Johanna. Cut off one head and two more grow back," he replied with a casual smile.

His face seemed more drawn than usual. He must have gotten a promotion. Maybe he didn't have a full understanding of the job before. Maybe he felt guilty. I took a step back, hoping to put enough distance between us to grab the weapon, but my body hit a solid figure and I paused. I didn't know how long he had been standing there, but I knew it was him. I felt my raised elbow brush against something smooth and cold like metal.

Oscar had undoubtedly known he was there, but he hadn't made any sudden movements. His eyes didn't move when Bucky appeared. He gave nothing away to me. But I could feel Bucky's heartbeat against my back and I knew he was waiting for something. Maybe he was waiting for me to tell him it was okay to fight back. Maybe he was just nervous about the gun pointed at my head. But I knew he was fast enough to grab it before Oscar could pull the trigger. So I stretched my fingers and then motioned forward.

His left arm shot outward and yanked the gun out of Oscar's hand before he had enough time to pull the trigger. The gun flew across the room and skidded to a halt beside the couch. Bucky's right arm darted out and shoved me against the stairs. I saw his body turn as his left hand flew towards Oscar's face. Blood spurted from his nose and he crashed against the entertainment center, sending a shower of books and collectables to the floor.

I heard my door open with a crash and a group of black clad agents stormed into our space. They were all wielding guns, pointed at Bucky. I stayed on the stairs with my hands around the banister. I was unarmed. All I could do was provide a distraction if it came down to it. I waited for my moment.

"Drop him!" one of the agents shouted.

Bucky had his hand wrapped around Oscar's throat. But he released his grip and spun around, sending his fist into another face. Then he turned and his elbow met with a nose. Another man was flipped over his shoulders and landed with a crash on my coffee table, sending broken and splintered wood across the room. The agent closest to me finally figured out that he was outmatched and then his gun was between my eyes.

My instincts took over and before I knew what I was doing, I had kicked out my leg and struck the man in the stomach. He flew backwards and landed against the wall in the hallway, but he quickly regained his balance and rushed at me. He met me as I left the bottom step. His body collided with mine and he slammed me against the floor.

"Jo!" I heard Bucky shout.

He had my pink knife in his hand. He tossed it toward me and it slid across the floor. I scrambled for it, switched the blade open with the touch of a button, and swung around. I caught the man across the cheek. He jumped backwards to get out of my reach and landed right in Bucky's path of destruction. He was launched across the room and landed with a thud against my bookcase. That left the two of us in a sea of bodies in the middle of my living room.

But Bucky wasn't done. He stepped over one of the motionless agents and found where Oscar was struggling to regain his balance by the stairs. He gripped Oscar by the throat and pinned him against the wall with his metal hand. Oscar was bleeding badly but Bucky wasn't going to let him die easy. He squeezed his fingers, cutting off Oscar's breathing and sneered as he waited for the man's face to turn blue. I wondered if the man's death would have been slow at all if the arm had been working properly. Despite it not being at its best, it had still done a lot of damage.

Oscar began to struggle. He kicked his legs, yanked helplessly at the metal around his throat. He choked, he sputtered, and all I could do was keep my eyes on Bucky's face. He wasn't Bucky anymore. He was the Winter Soldier. I stepped over to them and dropped to the floor on the other side of Oscar. I put my hand on Bucky's right arm.

"Bucky, listen to me," I said in a soft voice, even though my heart was pounding and I could barely breathe. I could feel my lip bleeding and swelling from my fall against the floor, but I wiped the blood away with the palm of my hand. "Bucky, let him go. I know you want to kill him, but you're not a killer. Not anymore. Please let him go?"

He barred his gritted teeth like a wild animal. His eyes were pinched and dark and for the first time since he'd appeared in my kitchen I was actually afraid of him. He had shown that he knew the difference between me and the enemy, but I didn't want him to kill again. I wanted him to be free of the things he had done. I didn't want him to regret this death. But the look on his face told me everything I needed to know. He wanted Oscar to die. He wanted to be the one to do it. He was enjoying it.

"Let him go," I whispered. "Please?" Finally he released his fingers and Oscar stopped struggling. He was unconscious and slumped against the wall. Bucky leaned over and leveled his eyes with mine. They were still dark and furious, and he looked at me almost as if he was trying to show me what he really was.

"I want to kill him, Jo," he whispered in a cold voice. "That's why I can't live this life with you. I want to kill each and every one of them." I nodded slowly and put my hands on him.

"I know, but…" I started.

"I have to go," he said.

"I know."

"I have to get out while I still can. More of them will come."

"Steve is on his way. I'll wait here for him. Get out of here and come back when it's safe. Promise me that you'll come back." He reached out and pressed his palm against my heart for just a second. Then he pulled away and stood up.

"I promise." He turned toward the back door and paused before he reached it. He looked back at me and his eyes were finally full of that remorse I had feared. I hated that I couldn't keep him safe from them. But everyone was right. I wasn't enough. "I'll come back for you," is all he said. And then he disappeared out the door.

* * *

Sorry for giving you a happy gushy romance chapter and then snatching it away from you. :X


	33. Chapter 33

When Bucky was gone I turned toward Oscar and checked to make sure he was still breathing. He was unconscious and I could hear some of the other men groaning. I hoped none of them were dead. I stood up and went to check the man who was sprawled across my rug. He was breathing but his spine was bent. I knew I shouldn't feel so terrible for someone who wanted to kill me, but I never wanted anyone to get hurt.

The only problem is that I had taken my eyes off of Oscar for too long. I stared down at the unfamiliar man who was bleeding on my floor, and then I felt a boot meet the back of my leg. I toppled over and then Oscar's hand wrapped around my ankle and yanked me toward him. He pinned me to the floor beneath him. His face was seething with rage. I yelped involuntarily.

"Bitch!" he growled as his fingers went for my throat. I scrambled for the knife I'd dropped in my fall. My hand wrapped around the sparkly pink handle and he didn't try to stop me. He smiled down, pressing his thumb against the hollow of my throat. "You can't do it. You've never been able to do it. You're too much of a …"

I swung forward and imbedded the knife into his chest. So I couldn't pull a trigger, and I didn't like killing anyone, but that didn't mean I lacked any talents. I was a medic. I knew where to slide the blade so that it wouldn't kill. That's why Special Forces had wanted me in the first place. I was good with knives.

But the shock on his face was sudden. The expression immediately changed from rage to disbelief. He rolled off of me, gasping and groaning about the stupid pink sparkly handle sticking out of his chest. I crawled away from him, nearly stumbling over the man with the broken spine.

"You goddamn bitch," he was saying with a tone of astonishment. "You fucking little bitch. I'm gonna kill you."

Since my knife was gone I reached for the gun that had landed by the couch. I jumped to my feet and raced for the door. I knew Steve was on his way and if he got there in time I would never have to pull the trigger. But I didn't have enough time to dig my other knives out of the closet. I needed something, even if I couldn't bring myself to shoot.

I toppled out the front door and out onto the lawn when I heard him crashing through the house behind me. I reached my car and spun around to face him. He had taken another fallen gun and waved it around as he stepped onto the porch. My knife was still sticking out of his chest, but the rage had returned to his face.

"I'm going to enjoy this," he was saying as he held the gun aloft with one hand. The other clutched at his bleeding chest. My blade protruded from the space between his fingers, right above his Kevlar vest and right below his collarbone. "I've been waiting for this moment since the day I left you. I knew what I wanted to do the second you pulled this stupid glittery knife on me. I said to myself, 'I can't wait to fucking kill this bitch."

He lifted the gun and my mind went blank. I felt my finger stroke the trigger and the pounding of my heart told me I was going to freeze. But then the gun shook in my hand and reverberated through my body. The shot was so loud I could hear it echo through the otherwise quiet neighborhood. The alarm in Tony's car began to wail. I heard my neighbors screaming in their houses.

His eyes went blank. Blood poured from his neck. He slumped forward and dropped to the grass like sack of flour. Right onto the blade I'd stuck in his chest.

I stood for a moment in complete shock. My mouth hung open and my brain was empty of thoughts. I dropped my hand to the side and the gun slipped from my sweating fingers and landed with a clank against the sidewalk. Then I limped forward and dropped to the grass at his side. I rolled his body back over. The knife had bent from his landing. A chunk of his neck was gone and I pressed my palm against the wound. It couldn't have been me. I couldn't have done it. I couldn't have killed him.

"C'mon," I begged as I lifted his head back and began doing compressions on his chest. I knew it was too late. I couldn't save him, but I felt like I had to at least try. Before I began to see the darkness in him I used to fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat the same way I had done with Bucky the night before. I couldn't forgive myself if that heartbeat stopped because of me. "Please, don't die? Please?" I repeated as I pressed down against his chest. I tilted his head back, pinched his nose, and breathed into his mouth. But his airway was blocked by blood. I kept trying anyway.

I heard footsteps pounding against the pavement as someone rushed out to me. She appeared on the other side of Oscar and sat down beside me. She pressed her fingers against his neck to check for a pulse even though it was so obvious he was dead. It was the girl who worked for Talbot at the diner. I couldn't remember her name.

"Are you okay?" she asked me as she leaned over his body and put her hand on mine while I pressed against his chest.

"I killed him," I said. "I killed him. I didn't mean to." She wrapped her hands around my wrists and pushed them away from him.

"He's dead, Jo. He's gone."

"No. No, no. I didn't. I can't. I couldn't."

"I've already contacted Colonel Talbot. He's sending someone out. Are there any more of them?"

I slid my wrists from her hands and clamored away from the both of them. I staggered to my feet and headed toward the sidewalk. I didn't know where I was going. I couldn't go anywhere. I would never be able to escape it. I knew I couldn't. My hands were shaking and covered in blood. His death was on my hands. He tried to kill me first, but I pulled the trigger and took his life. I could have shot him in the shoulder. I could have shot him in the hand. I didn't think. I aimed for his head and hit him in the throat.

Then I thought of his mom. The woman who had invited me over for Thanksgiving dinner. I thought of the call she was going to get. That despite all of the wrong her son had committed, I was the one who ended his life. The girl who used to fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

But then I thought of the last man whose heartbeat had filled my ear. I hadn't done it for me. I didn't shoot Oscar to save my life. I did it for Bucky. "Bucky?" I shouted. "BUCKY!" I screamed.

I heard my voice echo through the street, but it was drowned by the sirens and the rumble of a motorcycle engine. He wouldn't be able to hear me. Even if he was close by. And he couldn't come back. He couldn't see me like this. I wasn't strong enough for this life. So I dropped to the ground and pressed my head against my knees. Then I began to rock, trying to keep back the rising heat in the pit of my stomach. I couldn't lose focus. We had talked about it. We knew it would happen. I just didn't want it to end so soon. I had barely got him and now I had lost him again. I was going to lose everything.

"One, two, three, four," I counted. Over and over. "One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four." I didn't stop until the motorcycle shut off and I felt arms around me. Steve lifted me to my feet and I stared up into his concerned blue eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked. I looked back down at my trembling fingers. The blood was sticking to the creases of my palms and caught in my fingernails.

"I killed him," I told him. "I didn't freeze this time. I killed him."

"Where's Bucky?"

"He's gone. He took off. He didn't kill anyone. I did."

"Which way did he go?"

"Backyard."

"I'm going after him."

"It's too late."

He left me standing there anyway, with bloodied hands. An ambulance screeched to a halt beside Tony's temporary car. I watched as Steve ran around the back of the house with his shield and disappeared behind the fence.

* * *

Sorry for not updating last night. I was angry. Really really crying upset angry. BECAUSE, I was going to work on the sequel and I noticed the second chapter was missing. Just like "poof" no chapter two. But I know for a fact I saved it because I ALWAYS save my work. Well, Microsoft Word did have an issue recently where it crashed and auto-recovery brought back my files. For some reason I didn't check to be sure that chapter was on the auto-recovery file, but I usually don't have to because I save the recovered file anyway. But of course, it wasn't there. So I did a sweep of my computer and located all of the auto recovery files. I found every single file that had been recovered within at least the past month. But, you guessed it, that second chapter wasn't in any of them.

So I was really really angry. And I know it's stupid to be so angry over one chapter. But I LIKED that chapter. And I've been STRUGGLING to write for over a year. So anything I have to re-write just KILLS me. But I can handle rewrites if I have a copy of that file. But I don't. So now I have to go back and rewrite that entire chapter from the top of my head. Which means it's not going to be nearly as good. Ugh...

I cried. And then I decided not to update because I didn't even want to touch my computer. But I'm back now. And I'm going to try to work on the sequel some more. I didn't want anyone to have to wait for it. But I want it to be finished before I start putting it up so that there are no breaks, like with my Loki fic that gets updated every few months. Ugh... So angry.


	34. Chapter 34

Even though the blood was gone I could still feel the sick heat that rolled through my stomach whenever I thought about it. I was sitting at my kitchen table, in my rightful place with my back to the wall. I had my fingers wrapped around a mug of tea, but they kept trembling anyway. I could feel the liquid burn the cut on my lip and scald my throat. My sister was sitting in front of me. She had flown down while I was still in custody. Tony was on his way from California and should land any minute.

Bucky hadn't come back. No one had seen him. Steve had looked even though I knew he wouldn't find him. I had got home late after they cleared my house and I had almost expected to find him lurking in the dark. He never showed. He didn't come the next night either.

"I just don't understand why you won't stay at a hotel," Clara was saying as she swept her dark brown hair out of her face and stirred her own mug. She swore it would calm my nerves, but it didn't help.

My living room was destroyed. There was still a death on my hands. And no matter what anyone said to try and cheer me up, I could still feel the presence of the bloodstains on the front lawn. The bullet hole on the doorframe still came from a gun that I had shot. The bullet that made that hole went through someone's throat before embedding itself in the frame.

"I can't stay at a hotel in case he comes back," I told her as I took another sip and focused on the coffee stained wood grains on my table.

"You can leave a note for him. Give him a new number to call you at."

"Tony won't let me. He said it would just lead HYDRA right to me." She sighed.

"HYDRA already knows where to find you. How does it make a difference? Let Tony set up more of his surveillance thingies. He can tell you when Bucky comes back and you can contact him."

"Bucky won't come back if I'm not here."

"I don't think he's going to come back anyway." I glanced up at her.

"He promised he would come back for me."

"What if they got him, Jo? What if he's with HYDRA again?"

"He'll come back for me. He promised." She sighed heavily again and looked toward my kitchen window. I glanced at the clock and stuck my mug back on the table. "I have a meeting with Talbot. You should get out of here. Just in case."

"You should let me come with you."

"It's at SHIELD HQ. No one is allowed on the property unless they've been cleared. No one has enough time to clear you just so you can be in a meeting with me. So unless you want to wait on the bridge, I'd advise you not to go."

"You should really have a lawyer with you."

"I'm not going to be arrested. Talbot knows me. He's just going to bitch at me for agreeing to help Steve without his clearance. He might try to intimidate me but I'll be fine."

"I wish you weren't going back to that place. They already fucked your life up enough as it is."

"I don't really want to argue with you right now. If I don't go talk to Talbot he WILL have me arrested."

"Fine." She brushed me off but followed after me as I headed toward the front door.

My neighborhood used to feel like my sanctuary. It was normal and boring and felt safe in all its normal boringness. My neighbors were predictable. They mowed their lawns on Sunday mornings. Some of them even went to church. They organized bake sales that never ended up happening. Girl Scouts tried to sell me cookies every spring.

But the place felt darkened by my deed. I had brought this darkness into their normal boring lives. There were no kids rushing off to school. There were no joggers. Everyone felt the presence of that death. I had brought danger into their lives just for allowing HYDRA into mine. And no matter what I did or where I went, I would always bring that darkness with me.

Clara followed me out to the curb where the car Tony had leant me sat unused since Saturday afternoon. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at me in the early morning sun. She already seemed tired, stressed, and angry. I told her to go back home and let me deal with my new problem on my own, but she refused to leave. This ride to speak to Talbot was going to be my first time away from her since she'd arrived. I opened the door and looked over at where she was standing on the sidewalk.

"You shouldn't stay here," I reminded her.

"I'm just going to clean up and then Tony should be here. Maybe we'll go get breakfast," she explained. "Call me when you get done with Talbot." I gave her a quick nod before climbing into the car.

I hated driving. It was when my mind was free to wander. It didn't matter how loud I turned up the music. It didn't matter how much I concentrated on the road. My thoughts always caught up with me. The only time I ever enjoyed driving was when I wasn't alone. But I couldn't have asked Clara to join me. And she probably would have bored me to death anyway.

Even though it was so early it was passed the early morning rush hour. I had always been part of that rush hour when I still worked for SHIELD. DC just seemed to start earlier than most cities. And when the sun finally came up the day had already been started for most people.

So while there were still plenty of cars on the road, it wasn't an entirely bad drive. I didn't have to stop very often and there was enough space so that I could pass the black SUV in front of me if I wanted to.

I turned on the radio and listened to the morning talk show host as he had a discussion with someone about the recent terrorist attacks. They mentioned HYDRA by name. They never used to. At least they never did in anything other than history books and classes. I switched to another channel, but there was never anything on this early in the morning. So I took my eyes off the road just long enough to switch it over to a CD.

My eyes had been off the road for just one second too long. The car that had been beside me for the last few miles made a side sweep. I felt my car jerk from the impact and I returned my eyes to the road long enough to catch a glimpse of the SUV's brake lights right before my car slammed into the guardrail. The airbag burst open and my head slammed into the cushion, burning my skin and causing me to bite my lip, breaking open my previously healing cut.

I didn't have enough time to examine the damage before the car door ripped open, my seatbelt was yanked off, and I was dragged from the vehicle and out onto the freeway. The man tossed me onto the pavement and then pointed a gun to the back of my head. I stood up on my shaking feet and faced the group that had left the other SUV. I should have noticed there were too many of them on the road. I was trying too hard to stop myself from thinking too much.

A man stood at the center of the group. He wore the clothes they had forced him into when they made him a machine. He was covered in black and leather except for his metal arm. His hair was down and in his face. But his eyes were on mine. I felt my heart shatter in my chest.

"Shoot her," the man behind me instructed. Bucky stepped forward but made no move for the gun another agent held out for him. "Shoot her, or I will. You said your loyalties were with us. I want you to prove it. Shoot her."

"But she hasn't done anything," Bucky said. The gun pressed harder against my skull.

"It's not your job to ask questions, Soldier. Shoot her!"

"She's a civilian."

The man shoved me forward and I winced as the gun struck me on the back of the head. Bucky reached for the gun and lifted it in my direction. There was only a few feet separating us and the gun was aimed at my face. I wanted to beg him not to do it, but I could tell by his expression that I didn't have to. The Winter Soldier had been focused, almost empty, and emotionless. His eyes had been dark and frighteningly stern. This man, though he was dressed like The Winter Soldier, was not what he appeared. I could see the life in his bright blue eyes. I could see the invisible marks I had left on him. This was Bucky. There was too much fear and discomfort in his eyes.

"Shoot her!" the man shouted. I flinched again and Bucky's hands tightened around the gun.

I knew that he didn't want to do it. He didn't want to follow orders from anyone anymore. And even if what this man said was true, that Bucky had sworn his loyalties to HYDRA, I didn't believe he had done it willingly. This man clearly hadn't had his memories tampered with. Maybe he had no way to escape and pledged himself to spare his memories and torture. But they were going to do that anyway. They were going to make him shoot me or watch me die. One or the other. Probably both.

All of the men in the group had their guns on me. There was no way he could get out of it. He could shoot the man behind me, but all the others would open fire. I would still have to die. He could try to fight them, but despite his talents, all it would take is one second for one of them to pull the trigger and I'd be dead. All he could do was buy me time, and I could see on his face that he didn't know how to do that.

I could see him breathing even from the distance. His chest moved too quickly as he weighed his options in his mind. He was trying to find a solution for the both of us. A hole I could escape through. But I couldn't think of anything and I could see that he had already come to the conclusion that there was no escape.

"Bucky," I whispered. He kept his eyes on mine. His mouth was set in a straight line but his eyes were pained. He was breathing too rapidly for him to be anyone but the man who'd woken up with his arm around me. "It's okay," I told him. "Because… it was real. Just… no matter what happens… Don't forget that. Don't let them take that from you."

"You're a failure," the man behind me spoke. "A traitor." I heard the bullet in his gun slide into the chamber with a click. And then in an instant Bucky's gun jerked to the side and fired.

I heard the loud snap, I felt the bullet, and I slammed into the man behind me and dropped to the pavement. My right shoulder had exploded in pain and I screamed as I rolled to my side. I had forgotten just how sharp that pain felt. Even in my nightmares and flashbacks, my memories didn't prepare me for that pain. It was explosive and unexpected, even though I had known it was coming. I cried out as I clutched at the hole the bullet had made.

The man stepped over me. The bullet hadn't exited the back of my shoulder, so he was left unharmed. I followed his movement until my eyes landed on Bucky. He still had the pained expression on his face but he was watching the man expectantly. The man tossed something to the agent closest to Bucky.

"The Winter Soldier is compromised. Take him out and finish her off," he said. But then Bucky sprang into action. He spun around and cracked the man on the face with his metal arm. The agent reached forward with whatever had been tossed to him. He slammed the object into his neck and Bucky stumbled toward me, still trying to fight them off. His face went red and he fell forward onto his knees. His eyes met mine.

"Run," he said.

I struggled to get to my feet but I knew I wouldn't be fast enough. Even if I made it to my car in time, they had blocked the area off with their SUV's. The most I could do was lock the doors and hope that Tony had made my windows bulletproof.

I got to my feet and limped toward the car as I held my bleeding shoulder. I could hear Bucky struggling with them behind me but I kept my eyes forward.

"Get him in the car. I'll do it myself," the man was saying. A bullet zinged passed me and struck the car. I froze. "Turn around," he said.

I turned to face him but I looked passed him at where Bucky had fallen unconscious on the pavement. The other agents were trying to get him up so they could drag him back to one of the SUV's. Then the agent stepped in front of my view and blocked him from me. He lifted the gun in my direction.

"Agent Johanna Hayes," he said with a smile. Blood was dripping down his face from where Bucky had hit him. "Thank you for all of the work that you have done for us. And thank you, so much, for taking care of The Winter Soldier while we got up and running again. Now we can rebuild him, stronger and better than he ever was before. And when we do that, we're going to make him murder every single person that you love. Starting with your sister."

"You've made a terrible mistake," I said as I uselessly held onto my bleeding shoulder. "Because there's a crash detector in my car… and it links directly to Iron Man."

He gave a half laugh as if he didn't believe what I was saying. But I had seen the suit before he did. Bucky had given me just enough time for JARVIS to alert Tony and for him to get in the suit. The airport was a five minute drive. Even quicker in the air. A red blur few at him from the side and caught him in the gut, flinging him across the freeway toward the divider. He skidded to a halt and then jumped back to his feet. I had to admit, Tony's suit was always more impressive up close. I could hear the machinery move as he walked toward me and the mask stared down at me. I slumped against the car and slid to the ground.

"Are you alright?" I heard Tony's voice ask through a digital transmitter.

"Been better," I replied.

A bullet dinged across his head and he immediately turned and flew off toward the attacker. The black SUV that they'd put Bucky in was already speeding down the freeway. Cars were lining up behind the blockage made by my car and the other SUV's. Steve would have a hard time getting through the blockage. And I already knew I wouldn't be able to drive long enough to catch up with Bucky. I could see my vision already starting to spin. I just had to hope that Steve could get through fast enough to go after him.

I finally worked up the strength to get back on my feet. Tony had the agent by his ankle and was dangling him over the edge of the overpass. The gun was at his feet and the man was screaming. I limped over to them.

"Tony!" I shouted. The mask turned in my direction. "Leave me with the gun. Go after Bucky," I instructed.

"I can't do that, Jo," he said.

"Please?" I screamed as I reached for the gun the agent had dropped. "For me?" He turned and dropped the agent on the road at my feet.

"I'll do it because they're HYDRA. Not for you," he said.

Then he flew off down the road after the black SUV. I held the gun out with my left hand. I was trembling but the agent didn't know about my issue with pulling triggers. All he knew was that I had killed Oscar Harman. He didn't know about my problem with freezing.

"He won't catch them," he told me as he looked up like a guilty dog. "You'll never get him back. It's too late for him, Agent Hayes. It's too late for you. Because when we rebuild him… we're gonna send him to you. And you won't be able to save him this time. We'll make sure of it." I responded by cocking the gun. He just smiled. "You can't shoot me. You're bleeding out. You don't have the upper body strength. One shot will take you out, and your hands are too shaky to aim."

"You want to test me?" I asked as I stepped forward and pressed the barrel of the gun against his forehead just like he had done to me. "You know that's the last thing Oscar Harman said to me too, right? That I couldn't do it. And look where that got him. Bullet through the jugular. You don't want to test me, because I am really pissed off."

"What about you? What were your last words to James Barnes before he shot you? Words don't mean anything. He will forget you. And then we'll send him to kill you and all your friends."

I could feel the blood draining from my body. The wound wasn't fatal but the bleeding wasn't slowing. I could feel my head getting fuzzy. I couldn't hold the gun and stop the bleeding at the same time. I just wanted to stay conscious enough for Tony to get back or for Steve to arrive. He had to come. I couldn't let the asshole win.

"You already tried that," I said with a struggled breath. "You couldn't kill my friends. And do you hear that?" The freeway below us was noisy with passing cars and trucks, but I could hear the rumble of a motorcycle and the sound of it was etched into my brain. I didn't know where it was coming from; just that it was getting closer and he would be here within a matter of seconds. "That's my upper body strength," I told him. Then I stumbled backwards and dropped the gun on the cement.

He jerked forward to reach for the gun but the motorcycle engine was almost deafening now. He wrapped his fingers around the handle when a shield flew passed me like a frisbee and struck him in the face. He hit the guardrail and was out cold. The shield slid across the road before coming to a stop. I turned around to face where Steve was standing on top of my car.

"Are you okay?" he asked me, as he stepped down. His face was stern and focused. I shook my head.

"Tony went after him," I said quietly. "He shot me." Then I dropped to the ground and rested my head against the guardrail. I pinched my eyes shut and pressed my palm over the wound.

* * *

Requests for more chapters drive me, okay? I know I update daily anyway but when I get requests to update it feeds my soul.

Also, I'm sorry.


	35. Chapter 35

The window in my room was too bright for me to sleep through. Clara said I needed as much sleep as I could get, but I was used to having trees block out my window. I missed the shade and my lumpy mattress. There were no trees that could reach me on this floor, and all I could see out my window was a clear blue sky and the city. I couldn't sleep.

At least Clara had taken the hint and stopped talking to me. I was still groggy from surgery and I didn't want to talk at all, let alone about Bucky. Though we still differed in opinion, Clara was still doing everything she could to not say, "I told you so," and rub it in my face. I could still hear it in every word that she spoke to me.

She told me that taking Steve's mission was dangerous. She told me that getting involved with Bucky was dangerous and I should have just stood back like I was told. I should have just made him go to Steve and stayed out of his business. I still believed that I had done something right. Even if it hadn't lasted very long. I just hoped that he fought for his memories like he promised me he would.

The agent that we had managed to capture couldn't tell us anything. Tony hadn't been able to catch up to the SUV before he lost it, or at least that's what he told me. They had interrogated the agent but it did nothing since he just broke open a poison capsule and killed himself before we could get a word out.

Steve promised to keep looking for Bucky, but every minute that passed felt grimmer than the one before. I knew all hope was lost when I heard a tap on the open door and I heard his voice.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

"Sure, of course," Clara replied as she stood to greet him. I hated that she was so nice to Steve and yet so cold to Bucky. Steve had been the one who got me into this situation. Not Bucky. And yet she acted like Steve was a saint.

I kept my eyes on the window because I didn't want to talk to him unless he had good news. But I could already tell the news was bad just by the stance of his shoulders from the corner of my eye.

"She's not really up for company," Clara told him. "But I'm sure it's important. I should warn you that she's still a little loopy from surgery. She uh… has no verbal filter." I heard another voice then, but it came in the form of a soft laugh. It was Sam.

I saw Steve appear around the side of my bed and he took a seat on the chair under the window so that I couldn't ignore him if I tried. He gave me a half smile and I watched without emotion.

"How are you doing?" he asked as he sat a laptop across his lap.

"I've been better," I replied.

"I have some news for you."

"I don't want to hear it unless it's good." He sighed heavily.

"You told me to keep you updated. And I've been working with Stark to find Bucky."

"I know."

"We decided it would probably be best if you went to Malibu with them… for the time being." I tried to sit up and winced from the pain. The bullet had shattered my bone so my entire right arm was completely useless.

"I can't go to Malibu. I have to find Bucky. No offense, Steve, but I'm the only one who's going to be able to get through to him when we find him."

"No offense, Jo," Sam said as he leaned against the foot of my bed. "But you're not going to be able to do anything. Not while Barnes is with HYDRA and they've got you on their list."

"I can still stay here. I can help."

"You can't even move your arm. There's nothing you're going to be able to do here," Clara said from my other side. "There's no safer place for you than to be with us."

"What happens when you find him and I'm not here to help you?" I asked Steve. I kept my eyes on him and I felt my voice crack with emotion. "You're going to try and get through to him on your own?"

"Barnes isn't coming back, Jo," Sam told me. "No matter what you think you can do."

"You don't know that! You said so yourself after they took him! HYDRA's higher ups have been taken down. The guys who got into my house and took Bucky were amateurs. They're HYDRA cockroaches. They have no idea what they're doing! And their facilities have been destroyed!"

"Most of them," Steve said. "Some of them were just abandoned. After Bucky went missing again, we uh… we got a hold of some security footage from what we thought was an abandoned facility." I cut my eyes to him again and then down at the laptop.

"How?" I asked. He cleared his throat and looked back at me.

"They emailed it to us. Me and you. I went on your computer after I got mine. I'm sorry. I just wanted to see if they'd sent you one too. And they did."

"Please don't?" I begged.

He didn't listen. He stood up and sat the laptop down on my lap. He opened the lid and it instantly came to life on a video screen. He pressed the play button and I pinched my eyes shut. I didn't want to see it but I opened them and watched despite my better judgment.

The video started in what appeared to be a lab. It was in black and white and the screen and sound was fuzzy. But I could make out Bucky's form and his movements as he thrashed around the room, knocking things over and throwing punches at the agents around him. They were trying to subdue him but he was chaotic and violent.

"I don't want to watch this," I told Steve.

"You have to," he replied softly.

"Where is she?" Bucky growled. I wanted to pinch my eyes shut again, but even if I did I would never forget that sound. I had never heard his voice so full of rage and anger. It was a deep throaty growl and it was worse than seeing him thrash around the room.

"She's dead! She's dead!" an agent was shouting as they tried to calm him. They threatened to hit him with tranquilizers but no one made any moves to inject him again. "She's gone!" the man shouted to get his attention. Bucky stumbled back toward the chair in the center of the room.

"He said I didn't have to kill her. I just had to shoot her. I did what I was told. I shot her. I did what you wanted."

"I know. I know."

"You killed her," he said so low I almost couldn't hear it. He stood back up and his shoulders tightened as he prepared to use his metal arm.

"I didn't kill her. I didn't have anything to do with it," the man said as he lifted his hands in a show of surrender. "It was Erikson. He gave the order and he saw it through. He did what he had to. To protect you. To protect all of us."

"She's gone."

"Yes."

"How do you know for sure?"

"I got the report back from Erikson after we left. She was shot point blank in the head. No vitals."

He turned away and I could see him breathing as the other agents tried to reassemble the mess he had made in the room. He stood there for a long moment as the agent waved directions at other people behind his back. Then after his pause, Bucky reached for something off the screen and sat down in the chair.

"Just do it," he said harshly.

He stuck a mouth piece into his mouth. The agent jumped forward to strap him in before he could change his mind. Then he pulled a piece of machinery over Bucky's head, locking him into place. I could see a rise in his breathing as he anticipated what was about to come. He told me once that it hurt. He remembered it every time. He gripped his fingers and prepared himself, so I reached out and shut the screen before I had to see it.

"Why did you show me this?" I asked through the heaviness in my chest.

"HYDRA wanted you to see it," Steve said. I pinched my mouth shut and looked at the wall. My eyes were hot with unshed tears and I was angry at him for forcing me to see Bucky like that.

"He shot me in the shoulder because he was trying to buy me time," I told him.

"I know."

"And they told him I was dead… So that he would be more compliant. He allowed them to torture him. Because of me."

"Because he thought he had nothing to go back to."

I breathed heavily through the tightness in my chest. I felt the tears spill out despite how much I tried to hold them back. I didn't want Captain America to see me cry. I didn't want him to mistake it for weakness. I felt my sister pat my leg but I pulled away from her. I reached up and wiped a tear away before it could drip down my swollen face.

"Was there any way to trace the video?" I finally asked. Steve nodded.

"Yeah, Tony was able to locate the facility fairly quickly. But they had already left it. It's been sealed off now."

"What about their cryogenic equipment? They wouldn't have been able to get that out on short notice." I saw Steve nod.

"They weren't able to take it, no. But we have no way of knowing if they have other resources. Chances are that they probably do. But we don't know where those facilities are being kept or if they even have access to them."

"So do you think he's still out there?"

"Yes, and I'm going to do whatever I can to find him regardless. But even if they can't put him on ice… they can still do things to his head."

"He told me that he would start to remember things every time he was out of cryo for too long. He said it's what happened with you. His mind was already slipping when you got to him. You just accelerated it. So did I."

"That's what I'm hoping for."

"Why did you show me the video, Steve?" I focused on him again and he gave me a sympathetic expression. I couldn't hide the tears if I wanted to. But he didn't look like he thought I was week. He seemed more understanding. I should have known all along that he would be understanding.

"Because I want you to go to Malibu with your sister and Stark. Let me work on finding Bucky. Let me do the dirty work this time. I can take care of your house if that's what you're worried about."

"I don't care about my stupid house," I said. "Just the goddamn raccoon." I sniffed. "Do you think he won't remember me?"

"No. He won't. And I can't risk him killing you before he remembers. There would be no hope for him after that."

"How long am I supposed to stay in Malibu? Until I can use my arm again? Until I'm… mentally stable?"

"As long as necessary," Steve said.

"I can do this," I told him. "I am strong enough. Despite what everyone thinks about me."

"It's not about strength, Jo. And if it was, Bucky is still stronger than you. And right now you and I are number one on HYDRA's kill list. I'm not sending you away because I think you're not strong. I'm sending you away because Bucky is stronger and I'm the only person who can match him. He wouldn't think twice about killing you. And I want to put you far enough away from him to make him think twice."

"You're sending me away because I'm too… human?" My words seemed to bother him. He dropped his head as if I had insulted him. I didn't take it back, even though I didn't mean to hurt his feelings. But he nodded anyway.

"Yes," he said slowly. "Because you're too human. And as much as I… don't get along with Stark, I think he can keep you safe. I promise you that I'll do whatever I can to get Bucky back. But I can't risk him going to you first. Not again. Not if he views you as a threat from the start."

"I've already said it once and I'll say it again," I said as I looked back up at him. "It doesn't matter where you send me. He'll find me." He nodded slowly and stood to his feet. He collected his laptop and then turned to leave.

"I'm sorry, Jo," he said as he patted my foot. He gave Clara a nod and then left the room. She followed after him. Sam stayed where he was at the end of my bed. I didn't want to look at him. When Clara and Steve were gone he approached me and I finally looked up.

"I have something for you. It's not the same but… I figure you can add some extra decorations to it," he said as he pulled something out of his front pocket. He sat it down on my lap and I looked down at the pink switchblade. It didn't have the bedazzled jewels on it, but I appreciated it nonetheless. I reached out with my left hand and picked it up. "Remember what we talked about," he said quietly. Clara was saying goodbye to Steve in the hallway. I could hear their voices. "You don't have to carry a gun to be a hero. And whatever it is you decide to do… all you have to do is call." I wrapped my fingers around the knife and looked back up.

"You said I couldn't get him back," I reminded him. He shook his head.

"No. I meant that you can't get him back from this life. Running. Fighting. That will always be part of him. Just like it's always going to be part of Steve. You can't save him from that. You can't lock him up in a warm house and make him get a haircut and expect him to worry about nothing but mortgage payments and lawn care. That's never going to happen. But if anyone is going to get through to him, it's you. You just have to find a way to make it work. Because that life isn't meant for you either."

"What do you suggest I do?"

"Like I said, find your Project Falcon. Even if it's in Malibu. Even if it's something you thought you were running away from." I nodded slowly.

"Thank you, Sam."

"You're welcome. And I'll be waiting for that phone call. I heard the name they used to call you in the army." He gave me a knowing smile and patted my foot like Steve had. Then he left to meet him in the hall.

* * *

Oh god! Every time I update all I can think is "They're going to hate me."

However! I decided on something. The next chapter is technically the last chapter. And the sequel is nowhere near being ready yet. So I'm going to do an epilogue chapter so you guys can get a feel for the sequel before I start putting it up. Yes? No? Maybe? Whatever?


	36. Finale

In all my life, I had never once visited the west coast. Tony had once offered to take my family to Disneyland, but we never accepted. Mostly because it was just a ruse to get Clara to stay with him in California instead of spending all her time in New York. I also don't think he was accustomed to how humble my family was.

Even though I had grown up in Ohio, Washington DC had been my home. I had lived there for almost half a decade. That didn't seem like much in the span of my life, but it was my where my memories were the sharpest.

But when Tony's private jet landed in California I was suddenly exposed to a dry heat that I wasn't accustomed to. I didn't like it. And I had to sit in the back of Tony's car with the air conditioner on full blast, hiding in my hooded sweatshirt. But Tony lived by the ocean in a more tropical area, and the heat had gone from dry to humid, and sweltering hot in the sun to freezing cold in the shade.

Tony's house was as lavish as could be expected. His old house had been blown up just last Christmas and he had gone out and bought a new one, just higher up on a cliff and with more windows than normal people needed. His house was always bright, always cold inside, and always too hot outside. There were too many rooms and Tony was always downstairs tinkering in the basement and talking to his robots, while my sister always hid in the upstairs office working to represent Stark and all his shenanigans.

Tony gave me a job that I could do from his house, but it felt too simple to be a real job. He gave me more money than I deserved and said he'd give me a better job when I got back on my feet. I had enough money to pay for my own apartment and to pay for the car I was still "borrowing" from him, but my sister wouldn't let me move out because she was 90% sure I was going to be brutally murdered by a super-assassin if she left me alone for too long.

So during mid-afternoon I would take my laptop out onto the deck that overlooked the ocean. I would hide in the cool shade with a blanket or a fan, depending on the temperature. But that day was particularly chilly. The sun was setting and the shadows were icy. I had the blanket wrapped around me and I sat out on a chair looking out over the water. My laptop battery was dying but I didn't want to go back inside yet because Clara would start to nag me. She seemed to think that I wasn't recovering because I sat around the house all day and didn't bother to put normal clothes on most days. She said working on the laptop was putting too much strain on my arm. But I had to work. If I didn't work I would think and I hated thinking more than I hated working.

Even though my shoulder was no longer stitched or in a sling, it still hurt a great deal since most of the bone had been replaced and plated. The scar that was forming on the new wound was weirdly symmetric to the other one, but far more puckered and red and painful.

Whenever conversations with Clara lead toward my healing shoulder, she liked to remind me of the person who put it there. He was the reason my arm was so difficult to move without pain and he was the reason I sat outside all day with nothing but my thoughts and a ridiculously simple job.

It didn't matter how many times I tried to tell her that Bucky had shot me in the shoulder in an attempt to buy me more time and save my life. It didn't matter to her that he was a near perfect shot and had changed his target at the very last second. It didn't matter to her that his plan had worked and he had bought me just enough time for Tony to reach me. She still wasn't convinced. She still believed his act had been of violence and malevolence.

The screen door beside me was open and I could hear Clara clacking around on her heels and talking to Tony about his car keys. They were headed out to some event that he had planned and she didn't want to attend. But Tony insisted that she had to be there since it was her job to represent the company and make sure he didn't say anything stupid.

"I don't need keys!" Tony was arguing as he followed her around the house. "It's fingerprint activated and if you'd kept the car I got you for your birthday you would have known that!"

"Well, that's just stupid," she decided. "I can just cut your finger off and steal the car."

"The car has a heat sensor. It can tell if you chop off my finger. It would self-destruct."

"Do you want to test it?"

I listened to this for a few moments before Tony went off to find his tie and Clara appeared at the door and pushed the screen open. She walked out onto the patio and looked down at me. She had on a simple black dress that was tight against her figure. Her hair was tied up neatly and professionally. But she looked lovely as always, and I looked like a drug addict with my blanket and yoga pants.

"We're going to head out. Are you sure you don't want to come?" she asked as she put her hand on the glass railing to balance herself. I snorted a laugh.

"I wouldn't even go to the mailbox looking like this," I reminded her.

"We can make a pit-stop at a salon. I could always just chop off Tony's finger and come back for you when you're done."

"I don't really want to go anywhere."

"I know. I was just hoping my humor would win you over. Or the thought of Tony missing a finger." I gave a short laugh.

"It's tempting. But I wouldn't want you to blow up." She waved the idea away.

"He's bluffing. And if he isn't, then I bet you he's telling JARVIS to disable that function as we speak. Just in case I'm serious." I shook my head and smiled.

"I'll pass this time. Tony can keep his finger for another day."

"Well, call me if you need anything."

"I will."

"I'll see you later." She waved and went back inside, sliding the screen closed behind her.

I heard them bicker some more before the front door closed and the house went silent. Even from the back of the house and being so close to the ocean, I could hear Tony's car engine start and I waited for the sound of it to zoom down the driveway before I decided to get up.

Since the sun was setting it was filling the space with too much warmth. I lifted the blanket off of my shoulders and stretched my legs out with a sigh. I had seen too many sunsets since coming to Malibu. Steve said he wanted me to join his hunt for Bucky as soon as my doctor gave the okay. The only problem was that my doctor wouldn't give me the okay. Physical therapy was taking much longer this time around. But then again, last time I hadn't shattered a bone.

I knew that my presence was putting a strain on Tony and Clara. Clara's home was in New York, but she stayed for me. Not for Tony. And I think it really bothered him, even though he liked having her around all the time. Though he probably didn't like seeing me camp out on his deck every afternoon.

I decided that watching another sunset wasn't a good enough reason to let my battery die. So I stood up and collected my laptop and the blanket, and returned to the house. The computer's charger was plugged into the power station in the center of the coffee table. So I sat down on the couch and plugged it in, just in time.

"Hey, JARVIS?" I asked.

"Yes, Miss Hayes?" the disembodied voice replied.

"Would you mind turning on the AC?" The house was unusually warm, considering how chilly it had been for most of the afternoon. I guess that was what happened when you had too many windows and turned the AC off.

"The air conditioning unit has been set to a comfortable sixty two degrees."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, Miss Hayes."

"Are there any more water bottles in the fridge?"

"There are exactly three in the upstairs fridge," he told me.

"Thanks, buddy."

"You're welcome, Miss Hayes."

At first I hated the idea of having JARVIS in the house all the time. I knew he had been monitoring my house in DC, but it was different when he started talking to me. Back in DC I didn't have to hear the sometimes unusually human remarks he would make. In Malibu he acted like my alarm clock and personal assistant. Tony always got mad at him because he would interrupt our conversations to remind me of things.

But I never had to get up to see if there was something I wanted in the fridge because he monitored everything with a barcode and everything with a tank or electric connection. I never had to turn on the AC by myself. He woke me up every morning by unblocking my windows and saying "Good morning, Miss Hayes," with a pleasant voice.

In the beginning I gave Tony a lot of heat for it. But it turns out that I actually liked JARVIS and even though he was really only programmed to do Tony's bidding, I think he liked me too. Sometimes he went out of his weird little robot way to help me, even when Tony told him not to. Plus it was nice to have someone to talk to who couldn't judge you.

I stood up to walk to the kitchen. It was a surprisingly long walk from the couch to the kitchen. The place was stacked with stainless steel appliances and everything anyone could ever need or want in a home kitchen. Or a restaurant kitchen for that matter.

I wrapped my hand around the handle of the fridge and pulled the gigantic steel beast open. But the light was off. I reached up and pressed the button at the top that toggled the light. It wasn't working. It wasn't making that faint humming sound either.

"Uh… JARVIS?" I asked, but his voice didn't respond. I turned my head to the side and listened. The AC had gone silent too, but I felt my spine run cold anyway.

Clara and I had grown up in a house that occasionally lost power during winter storms or slow business months. Tony never went without power. Tony always had his bills paid. Tony had generators and backup generators and backups for his backups. Tony's house was built so that even if the power went out, the energy stored from solar panels would keep the place buzzing for a while.

The only way the power could have been off is if someone intentionally shut it off. JARVIS was usually supposed to overwrite that action. And if JARVIS hadn't got the power back on, it meant a line was cut somewhere. Which means JARVIS would then alert Tony from his car or his phone, and I knew he always had a suit handy, and he hadn't been gone very long.

I shut the fridge and then swiveled around. Just as I expected a figure was standing by the now open back door. He was dressed in full armor. Even his eyes and mouth were covered. The only thing exposed was his robotic arm.

I said once that I wasn't afraid of Bucky. I said I would never run from him, but I also wasn't prepared for him to be so dark and sinister. I couldn't connect with him through the mask. It wasn't MY Bucky. So I felt my heart beating in my chest and I took a cautious step forward.

"Bucky?" I said.

He lifted a weapon in my direction and I jumped behind the island counter to block myself. The weapon never shot. I sat crouched behind the counter, clutching at my pounding heart, hoping that maybe he recognized me.

He didn't. He appeared around the other side and lifted the weapon again. I bolted for the front door when the weapon was fired. I heard a click and a swish as a wire shot around my ankle and I crashed against the floor. He yanked me toward him, sliding me across the smooth floor.

"Bucky, please?" I shouted as I put my hands up in defense. He paused and stood over me. "It's me," I pleaded. "It's Jo. Don't you remember me? Please tell me you remember? You promised you would. You don't have to do this."

I had hoped that for a split second my plea was getting through to him, but then he reached down and slammed his robotic hand against my throat. My breath caught in a strangled gag and I struggled uselessly to get his hand away from me. I kicked my feet, I hit his arms, nothing worked. My instinct was to scratch him and I reached for his face and ripped the mask away, freeing the man that I had known. But his eyes were dark and focused. Nothing like the man who had woke up in my bed already smiling.

"Let her go," I heard a voice say, and then I heard the now familiar sound of Tony's suit as if fired up.

A bright light shot from his hand and hit Bucky in the chest, sending him flying out of the kitchen and into the dining room table. He was back on his feet in an instant and came barreling into the living room toward Tony. I was still struggling to catch my breath as they fought uselessly against each other. But then Tony threw Bucky toward the wall by the sliding glass door. He lifted his hand, preparing to fire up again.

Then I jumped between them.

"Tony," I gasped, putting my hands up. "Stop… Don't hurt him." Both men froze still. The iron mask stared over at me, and even though Tony's face was invisible I could still feel his disbelief.

"He killed my parents, Jo. He tried to kill you," he reminded me.

"He didn't kill your parents. HYDRA did. Bucky was just the weapon. And if he wanted to kill me, he could have. He could have crushed my throat without even trying. He could have just shot me and left."

"He's HYDRA's attack dog!"

"Exactly. He's innocent."

"He's beyond saving, Jo. The sooner you realize that, the better for all of us."

"Just let me… talk to him."

"He's not going to let you talk. He's here to kill you. Probably Clara and me too. Is that…"

Tony had one suit that acted without his instructions. It was set to protect him when he was under stress. I had never seen it in action, but I heard about it from his battle with the Mandarin last winter when the whole lot of them came to help him.

I heard that same familiar sound as a suit prepared to fire. We both turned to look at where it stood, arm raised and prepped for attack.

"No, no, no, no!" Tony shouted, but it was too late. The suit was aiming for Bucky and I was standing right in front of him.

Bucky swiveled, blocking me from the attack. It hit him in the space between his shoulders and sent the both of us crashing through the screen door and out onto the deck. I heard glass shatter and next thing I knew there was nothing beneath my feet but air and open water.

"Tony!" I screamed as I scrambled for the broken railing. But I was lying on the screen and it was sliding off the edge of the deck.

Glass pressed into my skin as I tried to grasp the railing. The movement caused my shoulder to explode with pain. I felt the glass break against my arm and in an instant I lost my grip and dropped. But then suddenly I felt metal wrap around my arm. I saw his face above me, stern with determination.

"Tell me what you know," he demanded as I dangled there above the ocean, hanging by nothing but his metal hand wrapped around my arm.

"What?" I shouted.

"Let her go!" I heard Tony yell from the deck beyond. I knew that if I dropped Tony could probably catch me. I just didn't like my odds. Or my position.

"Tell me what you know about me," Bucky repeated. My heart slammed against my ribcage and there was too much strain on my shoulder. I could barely focus, but I had to try.

"I-I… Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. You're from Brooklyn New York. You were born in 1917. You were an orphan. Your best friend in the whole world was Steve Rogers. You grew up together and you fought together. In the war. Against HYDRA."

"Tell me something only you would know!" he said, shaking me and making me shriek from fright.

"Okay! Okay! I know… I know when you fell… from the train! You said you remembered! You were lying in the snow! Bleeding! Screaming for help! Half your arm was severed!"

"Something about you!" he yelled.

"I'm trying!" I screamed. "You told me this! Just me! No one else! You told me the night before HYDRA took you from me! You said what we had was real! You listened to my heartbeat and you told me it was real!"

Before I had enough time to register what he was doing, he yanked me back onto the deck, practically throwing me toward the broken door. I slid across the glass and clutched at my shoulder. Bucky stood and walked toward me, crunching glass beneath his boots. I looked up as he approached.

"Why did you block him from me?" he asked. I wrapped my fingers around the cut on my arm, feeling blood squeeze out between my fingers.

"I didn't want him to hurt you," I told him.

"You care about me."

"Yes."

"Why does HYDRA want you alive?" He stepped toward me and I heard Tony's suit nearby as he prepared to defend me. But he stayed quiet so I could get the conversation I asked for.

"Because I'm important to you? Because the last time you got free from them I helped you recover. I helped you remember who you are."

"No," he said as he shook his head and stood closer. He was just above me. The sun was setting behind him and the light was bright so that I couldn't make out most of his features. "They want you for something. Something big."

"I have no idea," I admitted.

"I cared about you too?" he asked.

I struggled to my feet so that I could face him. He was taller than me but I could see into his eyes clearly on my feet. Even with the sun behind him. I reached for his right hand and he flinched, but allowed me to take it. I lifted it and pressed it against my chest where my heart was still pounding.

"You said that… being with me made you feel comfortable enough to remember yourself," I told him. "And that night when you told me how you fell from the train, you put your hand on my heart and I told you that was how you know it's real. What we had, I mean. It was cheesy but you said you liked cheesy. And… you seemed to like the way it felt. That was the first and last night we spent together but you kept your hand on my heart all night. And it was the last thing you did before they came for you. You promised you would come back for me."

He looked away as if I had finally said something that made sense, but he kept his hand over my heart. I wanted to reach out and hold him again because gentleness seemed to work for him before. But when I reached out he yanked himself away from me with a snarl and stepped back into the house passed Tony.

"Bucky, don't go," I said as I followed him in. He headed toward the front door but stopped in the foyer. Then he turned to look at me. His eyes were still cold and dark but there was something human in him that I hadn't seen earlier.

"HYDRA wants something from you," he said. I nodded.

"I don't know what it is."

"You said that I made a promise."

"Yes, you did."

"Then I'll keep it." He turned his head back toward the door. "I just want to find out why." Then he stepped out of the door, slamming it behind him.

I took a moment to collect myself. My heart was still thumping frantically in my chest and my mind was whirring. I wasn't entirely sure what Bucky meant by "finding out why." All I could hope was that he was going to start asking questions. Maybe he already had. Maybe that's why he'd been quick to save my life when I jumped in front of him. Maybe that's why my cheesy words seemed to get through to him. Maybe they didn't have their cryo equipment after all. And if that was the case, Bucky was returning regardless of what they did to his head.

That's the thing about the human brain. You can tamper with it all you want but it always perseveres. Just like me. I stepped over to the couch and leaned against it. I was bleeding and bruised and aching, but I felt alive, for the first time since the fight with HYDRA. That was what Sam meant when he said some of us weren't cut out for the normal life. This is what he meant when he said I couldn't save Bucky. I couldn't remove him from a life of fighting and running. Just like I myself, couldn't be taken from that life.

I wanted to live again. I didn't want to hide out on a couch all day working on a laptop and being lazy. I didn't want to go back to DC and work at a desk job or be a waitress. There was no life in boring and normal. That was why I struggled to recover and get my life back. I was meant for a life of running and fighting. I couldn't adjust because that life had never been plausible for me. And if HYDRA wanted me, then I would never stop running and fighting.

Maybe I couldn't shoot a gun. I couldn't kill when my own life was in danger. But I killed when other's lives were at stake. I threw an active grenade to save a Colonel. I shot a man in the throat for a man I cared about. For Bucky. And maybe I couldn't be like Steve or Tony. I couldn't save the world. But I could do my part. All I'd ever wanted was to do my part. And finally, HYDRA had given me enough motivation.

"You're sort of bleeding all over my sofa," Tony said, breaking me from my thoughts. I looked down at the cut on my arm from the broken glass.

"It's your fault for buying a house with glass railings," I told him.

"I realize that now."

"Will you give me a lift?"

"Where? I sort of left your sister stranded on the side of the road." I pushed away from the couch and wrapped the sleeve of my shirt around the wound.

"Just to the hospital so I can get this stitched. I can't do it one handed."

"Good idea. I was afraid you were going to try to go after him." I winced at the new aches and pains but turned back to face him. He had lifted the mask so I could see his face. I wasn't like Tony. I didn't have a cool suit. I didn't have a Project Falcon. But I knew someone who did.

"That's exactly what I'm going to do," I told him. "I just have a favor to call in first."

"You're going to go after him? Are you serious?" I nodded.

"Yes."

"That's an awfully big job for one person."

"You said you wanted revenge, right? Help me and I'll help you get it." I turned away from him and went to get my phone from the coffee table.

"And they say I'm nuts," I heard him say. I lifted the phone and headed toward the door to the garage. I heard the line connect on the phone as I pressed it to my ear.

"Hello?" the voice responded.

"Sam, hi. This is Jo. I have a favor to ask you." I could hear him smile even through the phone.

"Anything you need," he replied.

* * *

I know this is like the mother of all cliffhangers, but I made it that way specifically so it would lead into the sequel. So if there had been no sequel at all, I would have undoubtedly left you with a more uplifting final chapter. Lololol.

Either way, two things you can take from this finale. 1. Bucky was already questioning HYDRA despite them still tampering with his head. 2. HYDRA wants Jo alive. 3. Jo found her Project Falcon, in fact, she's had it all along.

Mentions of this possibility have been scattered throughout the story. Ex;  
Chapter 1, "The gun, knives, and training were just precautions."  
Chapter 4, "The box that held all my military memorabilia was missing, along with my collection of knives."  
Chapter 26, "I had my uniform, my medals, my throwing knives, my pictures, my letters from home, and my discharge papers."  
Chapter 33, "That's why Special Forces had wanted me in the first place. I was good with knives."

Things you can expect from the sequel: Jo being badass, flashbacks to her days in the military that explain how she picked up her "nickname," more Falcon, Steve's mutant girlfriend, Clara has a secret, Hawkeye, HYDRA being dicks, Bucky being considerably less like The Winter Soldier, sexy smoochies, Jo's family, angst, romance, all that good stuff. Maybe more. That's just what I have in store for now. :D

So I hope you liked it? Um... I want to say a super big thanks to everyone for all of the comments. I really was not expecting so many people to like this story. This has made me incredibly happy and I hope that I didn't disappoint you. *smoochies*

I hope that you guys stick around for the epilogue too. I'll have that up tomorrow to hold you guys over until the sequel is ready. But I don't know if you guys want a super happy mushy gushy epilogue, or a intense in your face "gotta know what happens" epilogue. I'll try to get that up asap.

Thanks again! Love you guys!


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